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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


They  drew  her  back  before  they  dared  attempt  to  raise  her. 


\'ol.  s,  page  no 


The  Works   of 

Guy  de  Maupassant 


VOLUME  V 


UNE    VIE 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


ILLUSTRATED 


NATIONAL^  LIBRARY    COMPANY 
i^IEW   YORK 

/9^ 


Copyright,   1909,  By 
BIGELOW,  SMITH  &  CQ, 


')/f~\ 


I  Ojr.  -/ 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  Woman's  Life  (Uxe  Vie) i 

Hautot  Senior  and  Hautot  Junior 268 

Little  Louise  Roque 287 

Mother  and  Daughter 335 

A  Passion 341 

No  Quarter 352 

The  Impolite  Sex 361 

Woman's  Wiles 369 


2215212 


INTRODUCTION. 

By  Edmund  Gosse 

The  most  robust  and  masculine  of  recent  French  novel- 
ists is  a  typical  Norman,  sprung  from  an  ancient  noble 
family,  originally  of  Lorraine,  but  long  settled  in  the 
Pays  de  Caux.  The  traveler  from  England  towards 
Paris,  soon  after  leaving  Dieppe,  sees  on  his  left  hand, 
immediately  beyond  the  station  of  St,  Aubin,  a  hand- 
some sixteenth-century  house,  the  Chateau  de  Miro- 
mesnil,  on  a  hill  above  the  railway.  Here,  surrounded 
by  the  relics  of  his  warlike  and  courtly  ancestors,  Henri 
Rene  Albert  Guy  de  Maupassant  was  born  on  the  5th 
of  August,  1850.  He  was  early  associated  with  the 
great  Norman  master  of  fiction,  Gustave  Flaubert,  who 
perceived  his  genius  and  enthusiastically  undertook  the 
training  of  his  intelligence.  Through  1870  and  1871 
the  young  man  served  in  the  war  as  a  common  soldier. 
He  was  somewhat  slow  in  taking  up  the  profession 
of  letters,  and  was  thirty  years  of  age  before  he  be- 
came in  any  degree  distinguished.  In  1879  the 
Troisieme  Theatre  Francais  produced  a  short  play  of 
his,  Histoire  dii  Vieux  Temps  (An  Old- World  Story), 
gracefully  written  in  rhyme,  but  showing  no  very  re- 
markable aptitude  for  the  stage. 

It  was  in  1880  that  De  Maupassant  was  suddenly 
made  famous  by  two  published  volumes.  The  one 
was  a  volume  of  Verses  {Des  Vers)^  twenty  pieces, 
most  of  them  of  a  narrative  character,  extremely  bril- 
liant  in   execution,    and   audacious   in   tone.     One   of 

ix 


X  INTRODUCTION 

these,    slightly   exceeding   its    fellows    in   crudity,    was 
threatened  with  a  prosecution  in  law  as  an  outrage  upon 
manners,  and  the  fortune  of  the  volume  was  secured. 
The    early   poems   of    De    Maupassant   like   those    of 
Paul  Bourget,  are  not  without  sterling  merit  as  poetry, 
but  their  main  interest  is  that  they  reflect  the  charac- 
teristics of  their  author's  mind.      Such  pieces  as  "  Fin- 
d'Amour,"  and  "  Au  Bord  de  I'Eau,"  in  the  1880  vol- 
ume, are  simply  short  stories  told  in  verse,  instead  of 
in  prose.     In  this  same  year,  Guy  de  Maupassant,  who 
had  thrown  in  his  lot  with  the  Naturalist  Novelists, 
contributed    a    short    tale   to    the    volume    called    Les 
Soirees  de  Medan,  to  which  Zola,  Huysmans,  Hennique, 
Ceard  and  Paul  Alexis  also  affixed  their  names.     He 
was  less  known  than  any  of  these  men,  yet  it  was  his 
story,  Boule  de  Siiif  (Lump  of  Suet,  or  Ball  of  Fat), 
which  ensured  the  success  of  the  book.     This  episode 
of  the  war,  treated  with  cynicism,  tenderness,  humor 
and  pathos  mingled  in  quite  a  new  manner,   revealed 
a  fresh  genius  for  the  art  of  narrative.     There  was  an 
instant  demand  for  more  short  stories  from  the  same 
pen,  and  it  was  soon  discovered  that  the  fecundity  and 
resource  of  the  new  writer  were  as  extraordinary  as 
the  charm  of  his  style  and  the  objective  force  of  his 
vision. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  recount  here  the  names  of  even 
the  chief  of  De  Maupassant's  stories.  If  we  judge 
them  merely  by  their  vivacity,  richness  and  variety, 
they  are  the  best  short  tales  which  have  been  produced 
anywhere  during  the  same  years.  But  it  is  impossible 
not  to  admit  that  they  have  grave  faults,  which  exclude 
them  from  all  possible  recommendation  to  young  and 
ingenuous  readers.     No  bibliography  of  them  can  be 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

attempted,  the  publishers  of  M.  Guy  de  Maupassant 
having  reprinted  his  lesser  stories  so  frequently,  and 
with  such  infinite  varieties  of  arrangement,  that  the 
positive  sequence  of  these  little  masterpieces  has  been 
hopelessly  confused.  Three  stories  in  particular,  how- 
ever, may  be  mentioned,  La  Maison  TelUer,  1881; 
Les  Strurs  RondoU,  1884,  and  Miss  Harriett,  1885, 
because  the  collections  which  originally  bore  these 
names  were  pre-eminently  successful  in  drawing  the 
attention  of  the  critics  to  the  author's  work. 

It  was  not  until  he  had  won  a  very  great  reputation 
as  a  short  story-teller,  that  De  Maupassant  attempted 
a  long  novel.  He  published  only  six  single  volume 
stories,  all  of  which  are  included  in  the  present  edition. 
The  first  w^as  Une  Vie  (A  Life),  1883,  a  very  careful 
study  of  Norman  manners,  highly  finished  in  the  man- 
ner of  Flaubert,  whom  he  has  styled  "  that  irreproach- 
able master  whom  I  admire  above  all  others."  In 
certain  directions,  I  do  not  think  that  De  Maupassant 
has  surpassed  Une  Vie,  in  fidelity  to  nature,  in  a  Dutch 
exactitude  of  portraiture,  in  a  certain  distinction  of  tone; 
it  was  the  history  of  an  unhappy  gentlewoman,  doomed 
throughout  life  to  be  deceived,  impoverished,  disdained 
and  overwhelmed.  Bel- A  mi,  1885,  which  succeeded 
this  quiet  and  Quaker-colored  book,  was  a  much  more 
vivid  novel,  an  extremely  vigorous  picture  of  the  rise 
in  social  prominence  of  a  penniless  fellow  in  Paris, 
without  a  brain  or  a  heart,  who  depends  wholly  upon 
his  impudence  and  his  good  looks.  After  1885  De 
Maupassant  published  four  novels  —  Mont-Oriol, 
1887;  Pierre  et  Jean,  1888;  Fort  comme  la  Mart  (As 
Strong  as  Death,  or  The  Ruling  Passion),  1889;  and 
Notre  Cceiir  (Our  Heart),  1890. 


xil  INTRODUCTION 

Of  these  six  remarkable  books,  the  Pierre  et  Jean  is 
certainly  the  most  finished  and  the  most  agreeable. 
In  Mont-Oriol,  a  beautiful  landscape  of  Auvergne 
mountain  and  bath  enshrines  a  singularly  pessimistic 
rendering  of  the  adage  "  He  loved  and  he  rode  away." 
Few  of  the  author's  thoughtful  admirers  will  admit 
that  in  Fort  comme  la  Mort  he  has  done  justice  to  his 
powers.  In  Notre  Cceiir  he  has  taken  up  one  of  the 
psychological  problems  which  have  hitherto  lain  in  the 
undisputed  province  of  M.  Bourget,  and  has  shown 
how  difficult  it  is  in  the  musky  atmosphere  of  fash- 
ionable Paris  for  two  hearts  to  recover  the  Mayday 
freshness  of  their  impulses,  the  spontaneous  flow  of 
their  illusions;  he  displays  himself  here  in  a  new  light, 
less  brutal  than  of  old,  more  delicate  and  analytical. 
With  regard  to  Pierre  et  Jean,  it  would  be  difficult  to 
find  words  wherewith  to  describe  it  and  its  relation 
to  the  best  English  fiction  more  just  or  more  felicitous 
than  those  in  which  Mr.  Henry  James  welcomed  its 
first  appearance : — "  Pierre  et  Jean  is,  so  far  as  my 
judgment  goes,  a  faultless  production.  .  .  .  It  is 
the  best  of  M.  de  Maupassant's  novels,  mainly  because 
M.  de  Maupassant  has  never  before  been  so  clever. 
It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  a  mature  talent  able  to  renew 
itself,  strike  another  note,  and  appear  stilL  young. 
The  author's  choice  of  a  milieu,  moreover, 
will  serve  to  English  readers  as  an  example  of  how 
much  more  democratic  contemporary  French  fiction  is 
than  that  of  his  own  country.  The  greater  part  of  it 
—  almost  all  the  work  of  Zola  and  of  Daudet,  the  list 
of  Flaubert's  novels,  and  the  best  of  those  of  the  broth- 
ers De  Goncourt  —  treat  of  that  vast,  dim  section  of  so- 
ciety, which,   lying  between  those   luxurious   walks   on 


INTRODUCTION  xlli 

whose  behalf  there  are  easy  suppositions  and  that  dark- 
ness of  misery  which,  in  addition  to  being  picturesque, 
brings  philanthropy  also  to  the  writer's  aid,  constitutes 
really,  in  extent  and  expressiveness,  the  substance  of 
every  nation.  In  England,  where  the  fashion  of  fiction 
still  sets  mainly  to  the  country-house  and  the  hunting- 
field,  and  yet  more  novels  are  published  than  anywhere 
else  in  the  world,  that  thick  twilight  of  mediocrity  of 
condition  has  been  little  explored.  May  it  yield  tri- 
umphs in  the  years  to  come!  " 

The  great  merit  of  M.  de  Maupassant  as  a  writer  is 
his    frank    a»<i^-masealt«€- directness.     He    sees    life 
clearly,  and  he  undertakes  to  describe  it  as  he  sees  it,  in 
concise   and  vigorous  language.     He  Is  a   realist,   yet 
without  the  gloominess  of  Zola,  over  whom  he  claims 
one  great  advantage,  that  of  possessing  a  rich  sense  of 
humor,  and  a  large  share  of  the  old  Gallic  wit.     His 
pessimism,  indeed,  is  inexorable,  and  he  pushes  the  mis- 
fortune, or  more  often  the  degradation,  of  his  charac- 
ters to  its  extreme  logical  conclusion.     Yet,  even  in  his 
saddest   stories,    the   general   design    is   rarely    sordid. 
For  a  long  while  he  was  almost  exclusively  concerned 
with  impressions  of  Normandy;  a  little  later  he  became 
one  of  the  many  painters  of  Paris.     Then  he  traveled 
widely,  in  the  south  of  Europe,  in  Africa ;  wherever  he 
went  he  took  with  him  a  quick  and  sensitive  eye  for  the 
aspects  of  nature,  and  his  descriptive  passages,  which 
are  never  pushed  to   a  tiresome   excess  of  length,   are 
often    faultlessly  vivid.     He   attempted,   with   a   good 
deal  of  cleverness,   to   analyze  character,   but  his  real 
power  seems  to  lie  In  describing,  in  a  sober  style  and 
with    a    virile    impartiality,    the   superficial    aspects    of 
action  and  intrigue. 


UNE  VIE 

(A  WOMAN'S  LIFE) 

I 

JEANNE,  having  finished  her  packing,  went  to  the 
window,  but  it  had  not  stopped  raining. 
All  night  long  the  downpour  had  pattered 
against  the  roofs  and  the  window-panes.  The  low, 
heavy  clouds  seemed  as  though  they  had  burst,  and 
were  emptying  themselves  on  the  world,  to  reduce  it  to 
a  pulp  and  melt  it  as  though  it  were  a  sugar-loaf.  A 
hot  wind  swept  by  in  gusts;  the  murmur  of  the  overflow- 
ing gutters  filled  the  empty  streets,  and  the  houses,  like 
sponges,  absorbed  the  moisture  which,  penetrating  to 
the  interior,  made  the  walls  wet  from  cellar  to  attic. 

Jeanne,  who  had  left  the  convent  the  day  before, 
free  at  last  and  ready  for  all  the  happiness  of  a  life 
of  which  she  had  dreamed  for  so  long,  feared  that  her 
father  would  hesitate  about  starting  if  the  weather  did 
not  clear  up,  and,  for  the  hundredth  time  since  the 
morning,  she  studied  the  horizon. 

Looking  round,  she  saw  that  she  had  forgotten  to 

put  her  almanac  in  her  traveling  bag.     She  took  from 

the  wall  the  little  card  which  bore  in  the  center  of  a 

design,  the  date  of  the  current  year  1819  in  gilt  letters, 

and  crossed  out  with  a  pencil  the  first   four  columns, 

drawing  a  line  through  each  saint's  name  till  she  came 

to  the  second  of  May,  the  day  she  had  left  the  convent. 
V-l  I 


2  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

A  voice  outside  the  door  called:  "  Jeannette!  " 

Jeanne  answered:  "Come  in,  papa."  And  her 
father  appeared. 

The  Baron  Simon-Jecques  Le  Perthuis  des  Vauds  was 
a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  eccentric  and  good- 
hearted.  An  enthusiastic  follower  of  Jean-Jacques 
Rousseau,  he  had  a  loving  tenderness  for  all  nature;  for 
the  fields,  the  woods,  and  for  animals.  An  aristocrat 
by  birth,  he  hated  '93  by  instinct;  but  of  a  philosophical 
temperament  and  liberal  by  education,  he  loathed  tyr- 
anny with  an  inoffensive  and  declamatory  hatred.  The 
strongest,  and  at  the  same  time  the  weakest,  trait  in  his 
character  was  his  generosity;  a  generosity  which  had 
not  enough  arms  to  caress,  to  give,  to  embrace;  the  gen- 
erosity of  a  creator  which  was  utterly  devoid  of  system, 
and  to  which  he  gave  way  with  no  attempt  to  resist  his 
impulses,  as  though  part  of  his  will  were  paralyzed; 
It  was  a  want  of  energy,  and  almost  amounted  to  a  vice. 

A  man  of  theories,  he  had  thought  out  a  whole  plan 
of  education  for  his  daughter,  wishing  to  make  her 
happy  and  good,  straightforward  and  affectionate.  Till 
she  was  twelve  years  old  she  had  stayed  at  home;  then, 
in  spite  of  her  mother's  tears,  she  was  sent  to  the  Sacred 
Heart  Convent.  He  had  kept  her  strictly  Immured 
there,  totally  Ignorant  of  worldly  things,  for  he  wished 
her  to  return  to  him,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  Innocent, 
that  he  might  himself  immerse  her  in  a  sort  of  bath 
of  rational  poetry;  and,  In  the  fields,  surrounded  by  the 
fertile  earth,  he  meant  to  Instruct  her,  and  enlighten 
her  by  the  sight  of  the  serene  laws  of  life,  the  inno- 
cent loves  and  the  simple  tenderness  of  the  animals. 

And  now  she  was  leaving  the  convent,  radiant  and 
brimful  of  happiness,  ready  for  every  joy  and  for  all 


UNE  VIE  3 

the  charming  adventures  that,  in  the  idle  moments  of 
her  days  and  during  the  long  nights,  she  had  already 
pictured  to  herself. 

She  looked  like  a  portrait  by  Veronese,  with  her  shin- 
ing, fair  hair,  which  looked  as  though  it  had  given  part 
of  its  color  to  her  skin,  the  creamy  skin  of  a  high-born 
girl,  hardly  tinted  with  pink  and  shaded  by  a  soft 
velvety  down,  which  could  just  be  seen  when  she  was 
kissed  by  a  sun-ray.  Her  eyes  were  blue,  an  opaque 
blue,  like  the  eyes  of  a  Dutch  china  figure.  On  her  left 
nostril  was  a  little  mole,  another  on  the  right  side  of 
her  chin,  where  curled  a  few  hairs  so  much  like  the  color 
of  the  skin  that  they  could  hardly  be  seen.  She  was  tall, 
with  a  well-developed  chest  and  supple  waist.  Her 
clear  voice  sometimes  sounded  too  shrill,  but  her  merry 
laugh  made  everyone  around  her  feel  happy.  She  had 
a  way  of  frequently  putting  both  hands  to  her  forehead, 
as  though  to  smooth  her  hair. 

She  ran  to  her  father,  put  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  kissed  him. 

"Well,  are  we  going  to  start?"  she  asked. 

He  smiled,  shook  back  his  white  hair,  which  he  wore 
rather  long,  and  pointing  towards  the  window : 

"  How  can  you  think  of  traveling  in  such  weather?  " 
he  said. 

Then  she  pleaded  coaxingly  and  affectionately,  "  Oh, 
papa,  please  do  let  us  start.  It  will  be  fine  in  the  after- 
noon." 

"  But  your  mother  will  never  consent  to  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  promise  you  she  shall;  I  will  answer  for 
her." 

"  Well,  if  you  can  persuade  your  mother,  I  am  quite 
willing  to  start." 


4  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

She  hastened  towards  the  baroness's  room,  for  she 
had  looked  forward  to  this  day  with  great  Impatience. 
Since  she  had  entered  the  convent  she  had  not  left 
Rouen,  as  her  father  would  allow  no  distracting  pleas- 
ures before  the  age  he  had  fixed.  Only  twice  had  she 
been  taken  to  Paris  for  a  fortnight,  but  that  was  an- 
other town,  and  she  longed  for  the  country.  Now  she 
was  going  to  spend  the  summer  on  their  estate,  Les 
Peuples,  in  an  old  family  chateau  built  on  the  cliff  near 
Yport;  and  she  was  looking  forward  to  the  boundless 
happiness  of  a  free  life  beside  the  waves.  And  then 
it  was  understood  that  the  manor  was  to  be  given  to 
her,  and  that  she  was  to  live  there  always  when  she  was 
married;  and  the  rain  which  had  been  falling  inces- 
santly since  the  night  before  was  the  first  real  grief  of 
her  life. 

In  three  minutes  she  came  running  out  of  her  moth- 
er's room,  crying : 

"  Papa  !  papa  !  Mamma  is  quite  willing.  Tell  them 
to  harness  the  horses." 

The  rain  had  not  given  over  in  the  least,  in  fact,  it 
was  coming  down  still  faster  when  the  landau  came 
round  to  the  door.  Jeanne  was  ready  to  jump  in 
when  the  baroness  came  down  the  stairs,  supported  on 
one  side  by  her  husband,  and  on  the  other  by  a  tall 
maid,  whose  frame  was  as  strong  and  as  well-knit  as  a 
boy's.  She  was  a  Normandy  girl  from  Caux,  and 
looked  at  least  twenty  years  old,  though  she  really 
was  scarcely  eighteen.  In  the  baron's  family  she  was 
treated  somewhat  like  a  second  daughter,  for  she  was 
Jeanne's  foster-sister.  She  was  named  Rosalie,  and  her 
principal  duty  consisted  in  aiding  her  mistress  to  walk, 
for,  within  the  last  few  years,  the  baroness  had  attained 


UNE  VIE  5 

an  enormous  size,  owing  to  an  hypertrophy  of  the  heart, 
of  which  she  was  always  complaining. 

Breathing  very  hard,  the  baroness  reached  the  steps 
of  the  old  hotel;  there  she  stopped  to  look  at  the  court- 
yard where  the  water  was  streaming  down,  and  mur- 
mured: 

"  Really,  it  is  not  prudent." 

Her  husband  answered  with  a  smile : 

"  It  was  you  who  wished  it,  Madame  Adelaide." 

She  bore  the  pompous  name  of  Adelaide,  and  he  al- 
ways prefaced  it  by  "  Madame  "  with  a  certain  little 
look  of  mock-respect. 

She  began  to  move  forward  again,  and  with  diffi- 
culty got  into  the  carriage,  all  the  springs  of  which 
bent  under  her  weight.  The  baron  sat  by  her  side,  and 
Jeanne  and  Rosalie  took  their  places  with  their  backs 
to  the  horses.  Ludivine,  the  cook,  brought  a  bundle 
of  rugs,  which  were  thrown  over  their  knees,  and  two 
baskets,  which  were  pushed  under  their  legs;  then  she 
climbed  up  beside  old  Simon  and  enveloped  herself  in 
a  great  rug,  which  covered  her  entirely.  The  concierge 
and  his  wife  came  to  shut  the  gate  and  wish  them  good- 
bye, and  after  some  parting  instructions  about  the 
baggage,  which  was  to  follow  in  a  cart,  the  carriage 
started. 

Old  Simon,  the  coachman,  with  his  head  held  down 
and  his  back  bent  under  the  rain,  could  hardly  be  seen 
in  his  three-caped  coat;  and  the  moaning  wind  rattled 
against  the  windows  and  swept  the  rain  along  the  road. 

The  horses  trotted  briskly  down  to  the  quay,  passed 
the  row  of  big  ships,  whose  masts  and  yards  and  ropes 
stood  out  against  the  gray  sky  like  bare  trees,  and  en- 
tered the   long  Boulevard  du   Mont   Riboudet.     Soon 


6  A  WOiMAN'S  LIFE 

they  reached  the  country,  and  from  time  to  time  the 
outline  of  a  weeping-willow,  with  its  branches  hanging 
in  a  corpse-like  inertness,  could  be  vaguely  seen  through 
the  watery  mist.  Ihe  horses'  shoes  clattered  on  the 
road;  and  the  four  wheels  made  regular  rings  of  mud. 

Inside  the  carriage  they  were  silent;  their  spirits 
seemed  damped,  like  the  earth.  The  baroness  leaned 
back,  rested  her  head  against  the  cushions,  and  closed 
her  eyes.  The  baron  looked  out  mournfully  at  the  mo- 
notonous, wet  fields,  and  Rosalie,  with  a  parcel  on  her 
knees,  sat  musing  in  the  animal-like  way  In  which  the 
lower  classes  indulge.  But  Jeanne  felt  herself  revive 
under  this  warm  rain  like  a  plant  which  is  put  into 
the  open  air  after  being  shut  up  in  a  dark  closet;  and 
the  greatness  of  her  joy  seemed  to  prevent  any  sadness 
reaching  her  heart.  Although  she  did  not  speak,  she 
wanted  to  sing  and  to  put  her  hand  outside  and  drink  the 
water  with  which  it  would  be  filled ;  and  the  desolate 
look  of  the  country  only  added  to  the  enjoyment  she 
felt  at  being  carried  along  so  swiftly,  and  at  feeling  her- 
self sheltered  In  the  midst  of  this  deluge. 

Under  the  ceaseless  rain  a  cloud  of  steam  rose  from 
the  backs  of  the  two  horses. 

The  baroness  gradually  fell  asleep;  her  face,  sur- 
rounded by  six  stiff  curls,  sank  lower  and  lower,  though 
It  was  partly  sustained  by  the  three  big  waves  of  her 
neck,  the  last  curves  of  which  lost  themselves  in  the 
amplitude  of  her  chest.  Her  head;  raised  by  each  res- 
piration, as  regularly  sank  again;  her  cheeks  pufi^ed  out, 
and  from  her  half-opened  lips  issued  a  deep  snore.  Her 
husband  leaned  over  towards  her  and  softly  placed  in 
her  hands,  crossed  on  her  ample  lap,  a  leather  pocket- 
book.     The  touch  awoke  her,   and  she  looked  at  the 


UNE  VIE  7 

object  in  her  lap  with  the  stupefied  look  of  one  suddenly 
aroused  from  sleep.  The  pocket-book  fell  and  opened, 
and  the  gold  and  bank-notes  it  contained  were  scattered 
all  over  the  carriage.  That  woke  her  up  altogether, 
and  the  light-heartedness  of  her  daughter  found  vent 
in  a  burst  of  laughter. 

The  baron  picked  up  the  money  and  placed  it  on  her 
knees. 

"  There,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  That  is  all  that  is 
left  of  the  farm  at  Eletot.  I  have  sold  it  to  pay  for 
the  doing  up  of  Les  Peuples  as  we  shall  live  there  so 
much  now." 

She  counted  the  six  thousand,  four  hundred  francs, 
and  put  them  quietly  into  her  pocket. 

It  was  the  ninth  farm  that  they  had  sold  out  of  the 
thirty-one  left  them  by  their  parents;  but  they  still  had 
about  twenty  thousand  livres  a  year  coming  in  from 
property  which,  well-managed,  would  have  easily 
brought  in  thirty  thousand  francs.  As  they  lived 
quietly,  this  income  would  have  been  amply  sufficient  for 
them,  if  their  lavish  generosity  had  not  constantly  ex- 
hausted their  supplies.  It  drained  their  money  from 
them  as  the  sun  draws  water  from  a  swamp.  The  gold 
melted,  vanished,  disappeared.  How?  No  one  knew. 
One  of  them  was  always  saying:  "  I  don't  know  how 
it  is,  but  I  have  spent  a  hundred  francs  to-day,  and  I 
haven't  anything  to  show  for  it." 

To  give  was  one  of  the  great  joys  of  their  existence, 
and  they  perfectly  understood  each  other  on  this  point 
in  a  way  that  was  at  once  grand  and  touching. 

Jeanne  asked:  "Is  my  chateau  looking  beautiful 
now?" 

"  You  will  see,  my  child,"  answered  the  baron,  gaily. 


8  A  WOiMAN  S  LIFE 

Little  by  little  the  violence  of  the  storm  diminished; 
soon  there  was  nothing  more  than  a  sort  of  mist,  a  very 
fine  drizzling  rain.  The  arch  of  the  clouds  seemed  to 
get  higher  and  lighter;  and  suddenly  a  long  oblique  sun- 
beam fell  on  the  fields.  Through  the  break  In  the 
clouds  a  streak  of  blue  sky  could  be  seen,  and  then  the 
rift  got  bigger  as  though  a  veil  were  being  drawn  back, 
and  a  beautiful  sky  of  a  pure  deep  blue  spread  itself 
out  over  the  w'orld.  There  was  a  fresh  mild  breeze 
like  a  happy  sigh  from  the  earth,  and  from  the  gardens 
and  woods  came  now  and  again  the  merry  song  of  a 
bird  drying  his  wings. 

The  evening  was  drawing  in ;  everyone  inside  the  car- 
riage, except  Jeanne,  was  asleep.  Twice  they  had 
stopped  at  an  inn,  to  rest  the  horses  and  give  them 
water  and  corn.  The  sun  had  set,  and  in  the  distance 
the  bells  were  ringing;  in  a  little  village  the  lamps  were 
being  lighted,  and  the  sky  was  studded  with  stars. 
Sometimes  the  lights  of  a  homestead  could  be  seen,  their 
rays  piercing  the  darkness;  and,  all  at  once  among  the 
fir-trees,  behind  a  hill,  the  large,  red,  sleepy  moon  arose. 

It  was  so  mild  that  the  windows  were  left  down,  and 
Jeanne,  tired  of  dreaming,  and  her  stock  of  happy 
visions  exhausted,  was  now  sleeping.  Sometimes  the 
numbness  caused  by  resting  too  long  in  one  position 
aroused  her,  and  she  looked  outside  and  saw  the  trees 
fly  past  her  in  the  clear  night,  or  some  cows,  lying  in  a 
field,  raise  their  heads  at  the  noise  of  the  carriage. 
Then  she  settled  herself  in  a  fresh  position,  and  tried 
to  continue  an  interrupted  dream,  but  the  continual 
rumbling  of  the  carriage  sounded  in  her  ears,  confusing 
her  thoughts,  and  she  shut  her  eyes  again,  her  mind 
feeling  as  tired  as  her  body. 


UNE  VIE  9 

At  last  the  carriage  stopped,  and  men  and  women 
came  to  the  doors  with  lanterns  in  their  hands.  They 
had  arrived,  and  Jeanne,  suddenly  awakened,  sprang 
out,  while  her  father  and  Rosalie,  lighted  by  a  farmer, 
almost  carried  in  the  baroness;  she  was  quite  worn  out, 
and,  catching  her  breath,  she  kept  saying  in  a  weak  little 
voice:  "Ah,  my  children!  what  shall  I  do?"  She 
would  have  nothing  to  eat  or  drink,  but  went  to  bed 
and  fell  asleep  at  once. 

Jeanne  and  the  baron  had  supper  alone.  They 
smiled  when  their  glances  met,  and,  at  every  moment, 
took  each  other's  hands  across  the  table;  then,  both  of 
them  filled  with  a  childish  delight,  they  went  over  the 
manor  which  hadjust  been  put  in  thorough  repair. 

It  was  one  of  those  big,  high,  Normandy  houses 
generally  built  of  white  stone  which  turns  gray,  and 
which,  large  enough  to  accommodate  a  regiment,  have 
something-  of  the  farm  about  them  as  well  as  the 
chateau. 

An  immense  hall,  going  from  end  to  end,  divided  the 
house  into  two  parts,  its  large  doors  opening  opposite 
each  other.  A  double  staircase  bestrode  this  entrance 
hall  leaving  the  center  empty,  and,  meeting  at  the  height 
of  the  first  floor,  formed  a  sort  of  bridge.  On  the 
ground-floor,  to  the  right,  was  the  huge  drawing-room 
hung  with  tapestry  with  a  design  of  birds  and  flowers. 
All  the'  furniture  was  in  tapestry,  the  subjects  of  the 
designs  being  taken  from  La  Fontaine's  fables.  Jeanne 
was  delighted  at  recognizing  a  chair  she  had  liked 
when  she  was  quite  a  child,  and  which  represented  the 
history  of  the  Fox  and  the  Stork.  The  library,  full 
of  old  books,  and  two  other  rooms,  which  were  not  used, 
came  next  to  the  drawing-room.      On  the  left  were  the 


lo  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

dining-room,  which  had  been  newly  wainscoted,  the 
hnen-press,  the  pantry,  the  kitchen,  and  a  httle  room 
with  a  bath  in  it. 

A  corridor  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  first  story, 
the  ten  doors  of  as  many  rooms  opening  on  to  it,  ana 
Jeanne's  room  was  quite  at  the  end,  on  the  right.  The 
baron  had  just  had  it  freshly  furnished  by  simply  using 
some  hangings  and  furniture  that  had  been  stored  away 
in  a  garret.  Very  old  Flemish  tapestry  peopled  the 
room  with  strange  characters,  and  when  she  saw  the 
bed  Jeanne  gave  a  cry  of  delight.  At  the  four  corners 
four  birds  of  carved  oak,  quite  black  and  polished  till 
they  shone,  supported  the  bed,  looking  as  though  they 
were  its  guardians.  The  sides  were  decorated  with 
two  large  garlands  of  carved  flowers  and  fruit;  and  the 
four  bed-posts,  finely  fluted  and  crowned  with  Cor- 
inthian capitals,  supported  a  cornice  of  entwined  roses 
and  cupids.  It  was  a  monumental  couch,  and  yet  was 
very  graceful,  despite  the  somber  appearance  of  the 
wood  darkened  by  age.  The  counterpane  and  canopy, 
made  of  old  dark  blue  silk,  starred  here  and  there  with 
great  fleiirs  de  lis  embroidered  in  gold,  sparkled  like  two 
firmaments. 

When  she  had  finished  admiring  the  bed,  Jeanne, 
raising  her  light,  examined  the  tapestry,  trying  to  dis- 
cover the  subject  of  the  design. 

A  young  nobleman  and  a  young  lady,  dressed  in  the 
strangest  w'ay  in  green,  red,  and  yellow,  were  talking 
under  a  blue  tree  on  which  white  fruit  was  ripening. 
A  big  rabbit  of  the  same  color  as  the  fruit  was  nibbling 
a  little  gray  grass.  Just  above  the  figures,  in  a  con- 
ventional distance,  five  little  round  houses  with  pointed 
roofs  could  be  seen,  and  up  at  the  top,  nearly  in  the 


UNE  VIE  II 

sky,  was  a  red  wind-mill.  Great  branches  of  flowers 
twined  in  and  out  over  the  whole. 

The  next  two  panels  were  very  like  the  first,  except 
that  out  of  the  houses  came  four  little  men,  dressed  in 
Flemish  costume,  who  raised  their  heads  to  heaven  as  if 
to  denote  their  extreme  surprise  and  anger.  But  the  last 
set  of  hangings  depicted  a  drama.  Near  the  rabbit, 
which  was  still  nibbling,  the  young  man  was  stretched 
out,  apparently  dead.  The  young  lady,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  him,  was  thrusting  a  sword  into  her  breast,  and 
the  fruit  on  the  tree  had  become  black. 

Jeanne  was  just  giving  up  trying  to  understand  it 
when  she  discovered  in  a  corner  a  microscopic  animal, 
which  the  rabbit  could  have  eaten  as  easily  as  a  blade 
of  grass,  and  which  was  meant  for  a  lion.  Then  she 
recognized  the  misfortunes  of  Pyramis  and  Thisbe;  and, 
although  she  smiled  at  the  simplicity  of  the  designs,  she 
felt  happy  at  being  surrounded  by  these  pictures  which 
would  always  accord  with  her  dearest  hopes;  and  at  the 
thought  that  every  night  this  antique  and  legendary 
love  would  watch  over  her  dreams. 

The  rest  of  the  furniture  was  of  the  most  different 
styles,  and  bore  the  traces  of  many  generations.  A 
superb  Louis  XVI  chest  of  drawers,  bound  with  pol- 
ished brass,  stood  between  two  Louis  XV  armchairs 
which  were  still  covered  with  their  original  brocaded 
silk.  A  rosewood  escritoire  was  opposite  the  mantel- 
piece, on  which,  under  a  glass  shade,  was  a  clock  made 
in  the  time  of  the  Empire.  It  was  in  the  form  of  a 
bronze  bee-hive  hanging  on  four  marble  columns  over 
a  garden  of  gilded  flowers.  On  a  small  pendulum, 
coming  out  of  the  hive  through  a  long  slit,  swung  a 
little  bee,  with  enamel  wings,  backwards  and  forwards 


12  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

over  the  flowers;  the  dial  was  of  painted  china  and  was 
let  into  the  side  of  the  hive.  It  struck  eleven,  and  the 
baron  kissed  his  daughter  and  went  to  his  own  room. 

Then  Jeanne  regretfully  went  to  bed,  giving  a  last 
look  round  her  room  before  she  put  out  her  candle. 
Only  the  head  of  the  bed  was  against  the  wall,  and  on 
the  left  was  a  window  through  which  a  stream  of  moon- 
light entered,  making  a  pool  of  light  on  the  floor,  and 
casting  pale  reflections  on  the  walls  over  the  motionless 
loves  of  Pyramis  and  Thisbe.  Through  the  other  win- 
dow, opposite  the  foot  of  the  bed,  Jeanne  could  see  a 
big  tree  bathed  in  a  soft  light.  She  turned  over  and 
closed  her  eyes,  but  after  a  little  while  opened  them 
again,  for  she  still  seemed  to  feel  the  jolting  of  the  car- 
riage, and  its  rumbling  was  yet  in  her  ears. 

For  some  time  she  lay  quite  still,  hoping  thus  to  soon 
fall  asleep,  but  the  restlessness  of  her  mind  communi- 
cated itself  to  her  body,  and  at  last  she  got  out  of  bed. 
With  her  arms  and  feet  bare,  in  her  long  chemise,  which 
made  her  look  like  a  phantom,  she  crossed  the  flood  of 
light  on  the  boards,  opened  her  window  and  looked 
out. 

The  night  was  so  clear  that  ev^erything  could  be  seen 
as  plainly  as  in  broad  daylight;  and  the  young  girl  recog- 
nized all  the  country  she  had  so  loved  as  a  child. 

First  of  all,  just  opposite  her,  was  a  big  lawn  looking 
as  yellow  as  gold  under  the  light  of  the  night.  There 
were  two  enormous  trees  before  the  chateau,  a  plane- 
tree  to  the  north,  a  linden  to  the  south,  and  quite  at  the 
end  of  the  grass,  a  little  thicket  ended  the  estate  which 
was  protected  from  the  hurricanes  by  five  rows  of  old 
elms  twisted,  torn,  and  sloped  like  a  roof,  by  the  sea 
wind  which  was  constantly  blowing. 


UNE  VIE  13 

This  kind  of  park  was  bounded  on  the  right  and  left 
by  two  long  avenues  of  immense  poplar-trees  (called 
peiiples  in  Normandy)  which  separated  the  squire's 
residence  from  the  two  farms  adjoining,  one  of  which 
was  occupied  by  the  Couillards,  the  other  by  the  Mar- 
tins.    These  peiiples  had  given  the  names  to  the  chateau. 

Beyond  this  enclosure  lay  a  large  piece  of  uncultivated 
ground  covered  with  gorse,  over  which  the  wind  rustled 
and  blew  day  and  night.  Then  the  coast  suddenly  fell 
a  hundred  yards,  forming  a  high,  white  cliff,  the  foot 
of  which  was  washed  by  the  sea ;  and  Jeanne  gazed  at 
the  vast,  watery  expanse  whose  waves  seemed  to  be 
sleeping  under  the  stars. 

In  this  repose  of  nature,  when  the  sun  was  absent,  the 
earth  gave  out  all  her  perfumes.  A  jasmine,  which  had 
climbed  round  the  lower  windows,  exhaled  its  pentrating 
fragrance  which  united  with  the  subtler  odor  of  the  bud- 
ding leaves,  and  the  soft  breeze  brought  with  it  the 
damp,  salt  smell  of  the  seaweeds  and  the  beach. 

At  first  the  young  girl  gave  herself  up  to  the  pleasure 
of  simply  breathing,  and  the  peace  of  the  country  calmed 
her  as  would  a  cool  bath.  All  the  animals  which  wake 
at  evening-time,  and  hide  their  obscure  existence  in  the 
peacefulness  of  the  night,  filled  the  clear  darkness  with 
a  silent  restlessness.  Great  birds  fled  silently  through 
the  air  like  shadows;  the  humming  of  invisible  insects 
could  be  heard,  and  noiseless  races  took  place  across  the 
dewy  grass  or  along  the  quiet  sandy  roads.  The  short 
monotonous  croak  of  the  frogs  was  the  only  sound  that 
could  be  distinguished. 

It  seemed  to  Jeanne  that  her  heart  was  getting  bigger, 
becoming  full  of  whisperings  like  this  clear  evening,  and 
of  a  thousand  wandering  desires  like  these  nocturnal  in- 


14  A  WOlMAN'S  LIFE 

sects  whose  quivering  life  surrounded  her.  An  uncon- 
scious sympathy  drew  her  towards  this  hving  poetry 
and  she  felt  that  joy  and  happiness  were  floating  towards 
her  through  the  soft  white  night,  and  she  began  to  dream 
of  love. 

Love !  For  two  years  she  had  been  anxiously  await- 
ing the  time  when  it  would  come  to  her,  and  now  she 
was  free  to  love,  she  had  only  to  meet  —  him !  What 
should  he  be  like?  She  did  not  know,  and  did  not 
trouble  herself  even  to  think  about  it.  He  would  be 
himself,  that  was  enough.  She  only  knew  that  she 
should  adore  him  with  her  whole  heart,  and  that  he 
would  love  her  with  all  his  strength,  and  she  pictured 
herself  walking  with  him  on  evenings  such  as  this,  under 
the  luminous  glow  of  the  stars.  They  would  walk  hand 
in  hand,  pressing  close  to  one  another,  listening  to  the 
beating  of  their  hearts,  mingling  their  love  with  the 
sweet  clearness  of  the  summer  nights,  and  so  united  that 
by  the  simple  power  of  their  love,  they  would  easily 
divine  each  other's  inmost  thoughts.  And  that  would 
endure  indefinitely,  in  the  serenity  of  an  Indestructible 
affection. 

Suddenly  she  fancied  he  was  there  —  close  to  her; 
and  a  vague  feeling  of  sensuality  swept  over  her  from 
head  to  foot.  She  unconsciously  pressed  her  arms 
against  her  breast,  as  if  to  clasp  her  dream  to  her;  and 
something  passed  over  her  mouth,  held  out  towards  the 
unknown,  which  almost  made  her  faint,  as  if  the  spring- 
tide wind  had  given  her  a  kiss  of  love. 

All  at  once,  on  the  road  behind  the  chateau,  she  heard 
someone  walking  in  the  night,  and  in  the  rapture  of  her 
love-filled  soul,  in  a  transport  of  faith  in  the  impossible, 
in  providential  hazards,  in  divine  presentiment,  in  the 


UNE  VIE  15 

romantic  combinations  of  Fate,  she  thought:  "If  it 
should  be  he !  "  She  anxiously  listened  to  the  steps  of 
the  traveler,  sure  that  he  would  stop  at  the  gate  to  de- 
mand hospitality.  But  he  had  passed  by  and  she  felt 
sad,  as  though  she  had  experienced  a  deception;  then 
after  a  moment  she  understood  the  feverish  excitement 
of  her  hopes,  and  smiled  at  her  own  folly. 

A  little  calmer,  she  let  her  thoughts  float  down  the 
stream  of  a  more  reasonable  reverie,  trying  to  pierce  the 
shadows  of  the  future  and  planning  out  her  life. 

She  would  live  here  with  him,  in  their  quiet  chateau 
overlooking  the  sea.  She  would  have  two  children,  a 
son  for  him,  and  a  daughter  for  herself,  and  she  pictured 
them  running  on  the  grass  between  the  plane-tree  and  the 
linden,  while  their  father  and  mother  followed  their 
movements  with  proud  eyes,  sometimes  exchanging  looks 
full  of  love  above  their  heads. 

She  stayed  dreaming  until  the  moon  had  finished  her 
journey  across  the  sky,  and  began  to  descend  Into  the  sea. 
The  air  became  cooler.  Towards  the  east  the  horizon 
was  getting  lighter.  A  cock  crowed  in  the  farm  on  the 
right,  others  answered  from  the  farm  on  the  left,  their 
hoarse  notes,  coming  through  the  walls  of  the  poultry- 
houses,  seeming  to  be  a  long  way  off,  and  the  stars  were 
disappearing  from  the  Immense  dome  of  the  sky  which 
had  gradually  whitened.  The  little  chirp  of  a  bird 
sounded ;  warblings,  timid  at  first,  came  from  among  the 
leaves;  then,  getting  bolder,  they  became  vibrating,  joy- 
ous, and  spread  from  branch  to  branch,  from  tree  to 
tree.  Jeanne  suddenly  felt  a  bright  light;  and  raising 
her  head,  which  she  had  buried  in  her  hands,  she  shut 
her  eyes,  dazzled  by  the  splendor  of  the  dawn. 

A  mountain  of  crimson  clouds,  partly  hidden  by  the 


1 6  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

avenue  of  poplars,  cast  a  red  glow  over  the  awakened 
earth,  and,  breaking  through  the  bright  clouds,  bathing 
the  trees,  the  plain,  the  ocean,  the  whole  horizon,  in  a 
fiery  light,  the  blazing  orb  appeared, 

Jeanne  felt  mad  with  happiness.  A  delirious  joy,  an 
infinite  tenderness  before  the  splendor  of  nature  filled 
her  heart.  It  was  her  sunrise  !  her  dawn  !  the  beginning 
of  her  life!  the  rising  of  her  hopes!  She  stretched  out 
her  arms  towards  the  radiant  space,  with  a  longing  to 
embrace  the  sun;  she  wanted  to  speak,  to  cry  aloud 
something  divine  like  this  day-break;  but  she  remained 
dumb  in  a  state  of  impotent  ecstasy.  Then,  laying  her 
forehead  on  her  hands,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and 
she  cried  for  joy. 

When  she  again  raised  her  head  the  glorious  colors  of 
the  dawning  day  had  already  disappeared.  She  felt 
calmer  and  a  little  tired  and  chilled.  Leaving  the  win- 
dow open,  she  threw  herself  on  the  bed,  mused  for  a  few 
minutes  longer,  then  fell  into  such  a  sound  sleep  that  she 
did  not  hear  her  father  calling  her  at  eight  o'clock,  and 
only  awoke  when  he  came  into  her  room. 

He  wanted  to  show  her  the  improvements  that  had 
been  made  in  the  chateau;  in  her  chateau. 

The  back  of  the  house  was  separated  from  the  village 
road,  which  half-a-mile  further  on  joined  the  high  road 
from  Havre  to  Fecamp,  by  a  large  sort  of  court  planted 
with  apple-trees.  A  straight  path  went  across  it  lead- 
ing from  the  steps  of  the  house  to  the  wooden  fence,  and 
the  low,  thatched  out-houses,  built  of  flints  from  the 
beach,  ran  the  whole  length  of  two  sides  of  the  court, 
which  was  separated  from  the  adjoining  farms  by  two 
long  ditches. 

The  roof  of  the  chateau  had  been  repaired,  the  wood- 


UNE  VIE  17 

work  restored,  and  the  walls  mended;  all  the  Inside  of 
the  house  had  been  painted  and  the  rooms  had  fresh 
hangings,  and  on  the  old  decaying  gray  walls  the  snowy 
shutters  and  the  new  plaster  stood  out  like  white  stains. 
One  of  Jeanne's  windows  was  in  the  front  of  the  house, 
which  looked  out  over  the  little  wood  and  the  wall  of 
wind-torn  elms,  on  to  the  sea. 

Arm  in  arm  Jeanne  and  the  baron  went  all  over  the 
chateau  without  missing  a  single  corner,  and  then  they 
walked  slowly  along  the  long  poplar  avenues  which  en- 
closed the  park,  as  it  was  called.  The  grass  had  grown 
under  the  trees,  making  a  green  carpet,  and  the  grove 
at  the  bottom  was  delightfully  pretty  with  its  little  wind- 
ing paths,  separated  by  leafy  walls,  running  in  and  out. 

Jeanne  was  startled  by  a  hare  springing  suddenly 
across  their  path;  it  ran  down  the  slope  and  made  off 
towards  the  cliff,  among  the  rushes. 

After  breakfast,  Madame  Adelaide  went  to  lie  down 
as  she  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  fatigue  of  the 
journey,  and  the  baron  proposed  that  he  and  Jeanne 
should  walk  to  Yport.  They  set  off,  going  through  the 
hamlet  of  Etouvent  in  which  was  situated  Les  Peuples, 
and  three  peasants  saluted  them  as  if  they  had  known 
them  all  their  lives. 

They  entered  the  sloping  woods  which  go  right  down 

to  the  sea,  and  soon  the  village  of  Yport  came  in  sight. 

The   women,    sitting   at   their   doors  mending   clothes, 

looked  up  as  they  passed.     There  was  a  strong  smell 

of  brine  in  the  steep  street  with  the  gutter  In  the  middle 

and  the  heaps  of  rubbish  lying  before  the  doors.     The 

brown  nets  to  which  a  few  shining  shells,  looking  like 

fragments  of  silver,  had  clung,  were  drying  before  the 

doors  of  huts  whence  came  the  odors  of  several  families 
V— 2 


1 8  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

living  in  the  same  room,  and  a  few  pigeons  were  looking 
for  food  at  the  side  of  the  gutter.  To  Jeanne  it  was 
all  as  new  and  curious  as  a  scene  at  a  theater. 

Turning  a  sharp  corner,  they  suddenly  came  upon  the 
smooth  opaque  blue  sea,  and  opposite  the  beach  they 
stopped  to  look  around. 

Boats,  with  sails  looking  like  the  wings  of  white  birds, 
were  in  the  offing;  to  the  right  and  left  rose  the  high 
cliffs;  a  sort  of  cape  interrupted  the  view  on  one  side, 
while  on  the  other  the  coast-line  stretched  out  till  it  could 
no  longer  be  distinguished,  and  a  harbor  and  some 
houses  could  be  seen  in  a  bay  a  little  way  off.  Tiny 
waves  fringing  the  sea  with  foam,  broke  on  the  beach 
with  a  faint  noise,  and  some  Normandy  boats,  hauled 
up  on  the  shingle,  lay  on  their  sides  with  the  sun  shin- 
ing on  their  tarred  planks;  a  few  fishermen  were  getting 
them  ready  to  go  out  with  the  evening  tide. 

A  sailor  came  up  with  some  fish  to  sell,  and  Jeanne 
bought  a  brill  that  she  insisted  on  carrying  home  herself. 
Then  the  man  offered  his  services  if  ever  they  wanted  to 
go  sailing,  telling  them  his  name,  "  Lastique,  Josephin 
Lastique,"  over  and  over  again  so  that  they  should  not 
forget  it.  The  baron  promised  to  remember  him,  and 
then  they  started  to  go  back  to  the  chateau. 

As  the  large  fish  was  too  heavy  for  Jeanne,  she  passed 
her  father's  stick  through  its  gills,  and  carrying  it  be- 
tween them,  they  went  gaily  up  the  hill,  with  the  wind 
in  their  faces,  chattering  like  two  children;  and  as  the 
brill  made  their  arms  ache,  they  let  it  drop  lower  and 
lower  till  its  big  tail  swept  along  the  grass. 


UNE  VIE  19 

II 

A  DELIGHTFUL  life  of  freedom  began  for  Jeanne. 
She  read,  dreamed,  and  wandered  about  all  alone,  walk- 
ing slowly  along  the  road,  building  castles  in  the  air,  or 
dancing  down  the  little  winding  valleys  whose  sloping 
sides  were  covered  with  golden  gorse.  Its  strong,  sweet 
odor,  increased  by  the  heat,  intoxicated  her  like  a  per- 
fumed wine,  while  she  was  lulled  by  the  distant  sound 
of  the  waves  breaking  on  the  beach.  When  she  was 
in  an  idle  mood  she  would  throw  herself  down  on  the 
thick  grass  of  the  hill-side,  and  sometimes  when  at  the 
turn  of  a  road  she  suddenly  caught  a  glimpse  of  thei^lue 
sea,  sparkling  in  the  light  of  the  sun,  with  a  white  sail  at 
the  horizon,  she  felt  an  inordinate  joy,  a  mysterious  pre- 
sentiment of  future  happiness. 

She  loved  to  be  alone  with  the  calm  beautv  of  nature, 
and  would  sit  motionless  for  so  long  on  the  top  of  a  hill, 
that  the  wild  rabbits  would  bound  fearlessly  up  to  her; 
or  she  would  run  swiftly  along  the  cliff,  exhilarated  by 
the  pure  air  of  the  hills,  and  finding  an  exquisite  pleas- 
ure in  being  able  to  move  without  fatigue,  like  the  swal- 
lows in  the  air  and  the  fish  in  the  water. 

Very  fond  of  bathing,  and  strong,  fearless,  and  uncon- 
scious of  danger,  she  would  swim  out  to  sea  till  she  could 
no  longer  be  perceived  from  the  shore,  feeling  refreshed 
by  the  cool  water,  and  enjoying  the  rocking  of  its  clear 
blue  waves.  When  she  was  a  long  way  out,  she  floated, 
and,  with  her  arms  crossed  on  her  breast,  gazed  at  the 
deep,  bkie  sky,  against  which  a  swallow  or  the  white 
outline  of  a  sea-gull  could  sometimes  be  seen.  No  noise 
could  be  heard  except  the  far  away  murmur  of  the  waves 
breaking  on  the  beach,  and  the  vague,  confused,  almost 


20  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

imperceptible  sound  of  the  pebbles  being  drawn  down 
by  the  receding  waves.  When  she  went  out  too  far,  a 
boat  put  off  to  bring  her  in  and  she  would  return  to  the 
chateau  pale  with  hunger,  but  not  at  all  tired,  with  a 
smile  on  her  lips,  and  her  eyes  dancing  with  joy. 

The  baron  was  planning  great  agricultural  improve- 
ments; he  wanted  to  make  experiments,  to  try  new 
machines,  to  acclimatize  foreign  plants,  and  he  passed 
part  of  his  time  talking  to  the  peasants,  who  shook  their 
heads  and  refused  to  believe  in  his  ideas. 

He  often  went  on  the  sea  with  the  sailors  of  Yport, 
and  when  he  had  seen  the  caves,  the  springs,  and  the 
rocks  that  were  of  any  interest  in  the  neighborhood,  he 
fished  like  a  common  seaman.  On  windy  days,  when 
the  breeze  filled  the  sails  and  forced  the  boat  over  till 
its  edge  touched  the  water,  and  the  mackerel-nets  trailed 
over  the  sides,  he  would  hold  a  slender  fishing-line, 
waiting  with  anxiety  for  the  bite  of  a  fish.  Then  he 
went  out  in  the  moonlight  to  take  up  the  nets  set  the 
night  before  (for  he  loved  to  hear  the  creaking  of  the 
masts,  and  to  breathe  the  fresh  night  air),  and,  after 
a  long  time  spent  in  tacking  about  to  find  the  buoys, 
guided  by  a  ridge  of  rocks,  the  spire  of  a  church,  or 
the  light-house  at  Fecamp,  he  liked  to  lie  still  under 
the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun,  which  turned  into  a  glit- 
tering mass  the  slimy  rays  and  the  white-bellied  turbot 
which  lay  on  the  deck  of  the  boat. 

At  every  meal,  he  gave  a  glowing  account  of  his  ex- 
cursions, and  the  baroness,  in  her  turn,  would  tell  him 
how  many  times  she  had  walked  up  and  down  the  long 
poplar-avenues  on  the  right  next  to  the  Couillards's 
farm,  the  other  one  not  having  enough  sun  on  it. 

She  had  been  advised  to  "  take  exercise,"   and  she 


UNE  VIE  21 

walked  for  hours  together.  As  soon  as  the  sun  was 
high  enough  for  its  warmth  to  be  felt  she  went  out,  lean- 
ing on  Rosalie's  arm,  and  enveloped  in  a  cloak  and 
two  shawls,  with  a  red  scarf  on  her  head  and  a  black 
hood  over  that. 

Then  she  began  a  long,  uninteresting  walk  from  the 
corner  of  the  chateau  to  the  first  shrubs  of  the  wood 
and  back  again.  Her  left  foot,  which  dragged  a  little, 
had  traced  two  furrows  where  the  grass  had  died.  At 
each  end  of  the  path  she  had  had  a  bench  placed,  and 
ever)'  five  minutes  she  stopped,  saying  to  the  poor,  pa- 
tient maid  who  supported  her:  "Let  us  sit  down,  my 
girl;  I  am  a  little  tired." 

And  at  each  rest  she  left  on  one  or  other  of  the 
benches  first  the  scarf  which  covered  her  head,  then  one 
shawl,  then  the  other,  then  the  hood,  and  then  the  cloak ; 
and  all  these  things  made  two  big  bundles  of  wraps, 
which  Rosalie  carried  on  her  free  arm,  when  they  went 
in  to  lunch. 

In  the  afternoon  the  baroness  recommenced  her  walk 
in  a  feebler  way,  taking  longer  rests,  and  sometimes 
dozing  for  an  hour  at  a  time  on  a  couch  that  was 
wheeled  out  of  doors  for  her.  She  called  it  taking 
"  her  exercise,"  in  the  same  way  as  she  spoke  of  "  my 
hypertrophy." 

A  doctor  she  had  consulted  ten  years  before  because 
she  suffered  from  palpitations,  had  hinted  at  hyper- 
trophy. Since  then  she  had  constantly  used  this  word, 
though  she  did  not  in  the  least  understand  what  it 
meant,  and  she  was  always  making  the  baron,  and 
Jeanne,  and  Rosalie  put  their  hands  on  her  heart,  though 
its  beatings  could  not  be  felt,  so  buried  was  it  under  her 
bosom.      She  obstinately  refused  to  be  examined  by  any 


22  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

other  doctor  in  case  he  should  say  she  had  another 
malady,  and  she  spoke  of  "  her  hypertrophy  "  so  often 
that  it  seemed  as  though  this  affection  of  the  heart  were 
peculiar  to  her,  and  belonged  to  her,  like  something 
unique,  to  which  no  one  else  had  any  right.  The  baron 
and  Jeanne  said  "  my  wife's  "  or  "  mamma's  hyper- 
trophy "  in  the  same  way  as  they  would  have  spoken 
of  her  dress  or  her  umbrella. 

She  had  been  very  pretty  when  she  was  young,  and 
as  slender  as  a  reed.  After  flirting  with  the  officers 
of  all  the  regiments  of  the  Empire,  she  had  read  Co- 
rinne,  which  had  made  her  cry,  and,  in  a  certain  meas- 
ure, altered  her  character. 

As  her  waist  got  bigger  her  mind  became  more  and 
more  poetical,  and  when,  through  her  size,  she  had  to 
remain  nearly  all  day  in  her  armchair,  she  dreamed 
of  love  adventures,  of  which  she  was  always  the  hero- 
ine; always  thinking  of  the  sort  she  liked  best,  like  a 
hand-organ  continually  repeating  the  same  air.  The 
languishing  romances,  where  they  talk  about  captives 
and  swallows,  always  made  her  cry;  and  she  even  liked 
some  of  Beranger's  coarse  verses,  because  of  the  grief 
they  expressed.  She  would  sit  motionless  for  hours, 
lost  in  thought,  and  she  was  very  fond  of  Les  Peuples, 
because  it  served  as  a  scene  for  her  dreams,  the  sur- 
rounding woods,  the  sea,  and  the  waste  land  reminding 
her  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  books,  which  she  had  lately 
been  reading. 

On  rainy  days  she  stayed  in  her  room  looking  over 
what  she  called  her  "  relics,"  They  were  all  her  old 
letters;  those  from  her  father  and  mother,  the  baron's 
when  she  was  engaged  to  him,  and  some  others  besides. 
She  kept  them  in  a  mahogany  escritoire  with  copper 


UNE  VIE  23 

sphinxes  at  the  corners,  and  she  always  used  a  particular 
tone  when  she  said:  "  Rosalie,  bring  me  my  souvenir- 
drawer." 

The  maid  would  open  the  escritoire,  take  out  the 
drawer,  and  place  it  on  a  chair  beside  her  mistress, 
who  slowly  read  the  letters  one  by  one,  occasionally 
letting  fall  a  tear. 

Jeanne  sometimes  took  Rosalie's  place  and  accom- 
panied her  mother's  walks,  and  listened  to  her  reminis- 
cences of  childhood.  The  young  girl  recognized  her- 
self in  these  tales,  and  was  astonished  to  find  that  her 
mother's  thoughts  and  hopes  had  been  the  same  as  hers; 
for  every  one  imagines  that  he  is  the  first  to  experience 
.those  feelings  which  made  the  hearts  of  our  first  par- 
ents beat  quicker,  and  which  will  continue  to  exist  in 
human  hearts  till  the  end  of  time. 

These  tales,  often  interrupted  for  several  seconds  by 
the  baroness's  want  of  breath,  were  told  as  slowly  as 
she  walked,  and  Jeanne  let  her  thoughts  run  on  to  the 
happy  future,  without  waiting  to  hear  the  end  of  her 
mother's  anecdotes. 

One  afternoon,  as  they  were  resting  on  the  seat  at  the 
bottom  of  the  walk,  they  saw  a  fat  priest  coming 
towards  them  from  the  other  end  of  the  avenue.  He 
bowed,  put  on  a  smiling  look,  bowed  again  when  he 
was  about  three  feet  off,  and  cried: 

"  Well,  Madame  la  baronne,  and  how  are  we  to- 
day?" 

He  was  the  cure  of  the  parish. 

The  baroness,  born  in  a  philosophical  century  and 
brought  up  in  revolutionary  times  by  a  father  who  did 
not  believe  very  much  in  anything,  did  not  often  go 
to  church,  although  she  liked  priests  with  the  sort  of 


24  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

religious  instinct  that  most  women  have.  She  had 
forgotten  all  about  the  Abbe  Picot,  her  cure,  and  her 
face  colored  when  she  saw  him.  She  began  to  make 
excuses  for  not  having  gone  to  see  him,  but  the  good- 
natured  priest  did  not  seem  at  all  put  out.  He  looked 
at  Jeanne,  complimented  her  on  her  good  looks,  sat 
down,  put  his  hat  on  his  knees,  and  wiped  his  forehead. 

He  was  a  very  fat,  red-faced  man,  who  perspired 
very  freely.  Every  minute  he  drew  an  enormous, 
checked  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  wiped  his 
face  and  neck;  but  he  had  hardly  put  it  back  again  when 
fresh  drops  appeared  on  his  skin  and,  falling  on  his 
cassock,  made  the  dust  on  it  into  little,  round  spots. 
He  was  a  true  country-priest,  lively  and  tolerant,  talk- 
ative and  honest.  He  told  anecdotes,  talked  about 
the  peasants,  and  did  not  seem  to  have  noticed  that 
his  two  parishioners  had  not  been  to  mass;  for  the 
baroness  always  tried  to  reconcile  her  vague  ideas  of 
religion  to  her  indolence,  and  Jeanne  was  too  happy  at 
having  left  the  convent,  where  she  had  been  sickened 
of  holy  ceremonies,  to  think  about  going  to  church. 

The  baron  joined  them.  His  pantheistic  religion 
made  him  indifferent  to  doctrine,  and  he  asked  the 
abbe,  whom  he  knew  by  sight,  to  stay  to  dinner.  The 
priest  had  the  art  of  pleasing  every  one,  and  thanks 
to  the  unconscious  tact  that  is  acquired  by  the  most 
ordinary  men  called  by  fate  to  exercise  any  moral  power 
over  their  fellow  creatures,  and  the  baroness,  attracted 
perhaps  by  one  of  these  affinities  which  draw  similar 
natures  together,  paid  every  attention  to  him,  the  fat 
man's  sanguine  face  and  short  breath  agreeing  with  her 
gasping  obesity.  By  the  time  dessert  was  placed  on  the 
table  he  had  begun  telling  funny  stories,  with  the  laisser- 


UNE  VIE  25 

alJer  of  a  man  who  had  had  a  good  dinner  In  congenial 
society. 

All  at  once,  as  though  a  good  Idea  had  just  occurred 
to  him,  he  exclaimed: 

"  Oh,  I  hav^e  a  new  parlshoner  I  must  introduce  to 
you,  M.  le  Vicomte  de  Lamare." 

The  baroness,  who  had  all  the  heraldy  of  the  prov- 
ince at  her  finger  ends,  asked : 

"  Does  he  belong  to  the  family  of  Lamare  de 
I'Eure?" 

The  priest  bowed: 

"Yes,  madame;  he  is  the  son  of  the  Vicomte  Jean 
de  Lamare,  who  died  last  year." 

Then  Madame  Adelaide,  who  loved  the  aristocracy 
above  everything,  asked  a  great  many  questions,  and 
learnt  that  the  young  man  had  sold  the  family  chateau 
to  pay  his  father's  debts,  and  had  come  to  live  on  one 
of  the  three  farms  that  he  owned  at  Etouvent. 

This  property  only  brought  in  about  five  or  six 
thousand  llvres  a  year,  but  the  vicomte  was  of  a  fore- 
seeing, economical  disposition  and  meant  to  live  quietly 
for  two  or  three  years,  so  that  he  might  save  enough 
to  go  Into  society  and  marry  well,  without  having 
to  get  Into  debt  or  mortgage  his  farms. 

"  He  Is  a  charming  young  fellow,"  added  the  cure; 
*'  and  so  steady,  so  quiet.  But  he  can't  find  many 
amusements  In  the  country." 

"  Bring  him  to  see  us,  M.  I'Abbe,"  said  the  baron; 
"  he  might  like  to  come  here  sometimes."  And  then 
the  conversation  turned  to  other  subjects. 

When  they  went  Into  the  drawing-room  the  priest 
asked  if  he  might  go  out  into  the  garden,  as  he  was 
used  to  a  little  exercise  after  meals.    The  baron  went  out 


26  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

with  him,  and  they  walked  backwards  and  forwards  the 
whole  length  of  the  chateau,  while  their  two  shadows, 
the  one  thin,  and  the  other  quite  round  and  looking  as 
though  it  had  a  mushroom  on  its  head,  fell  sometimes 
before  and  sometimes  behind  them,  according  as  they 
walked  towards  the  moon  or  turned  their  backs  on  it. 
The  cure  chewed  a  sort  of  cigarette  that  he  had  taken 
from  his  pocket;  he  told  the  baron  why  he  used  it  in 
the  plain  speech  of  a  countryman : 

"  It  is  to  help  the  digestion;  my  liver  is  rather  slug- 
gish." 

Looking  at  the  sky  where  the  bright  moon  was  sail- 
ing along,  he  suddenly  said: 

"  That  is  a  sight  one  never  gets  tired  of." 

Then  he  went  in  to  say  good-bye  to  the  ladies. 

Ill 

The  next  Sunday  the  baroness  and  Jeanne  went 
to  mass  out  of  deference  to  their  cure,  and  after  it 
was  over  they  waited  to  ask  him  to  luncheon  for 
the  following  Thursday.  He  came  out  of  the  vestry 
with  a  tall,  good-looking,  young  man  who  had  famiharly 
taken  his  arm. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  the  two  ladies  he  gave  a  look  of 
pleased  surprise,  and  exclaimed: 

"What  a  lucky  thing!  Madame  la  baronne  and 
Mile.  Jeanne,  permit  me  to  present  to  you  your  neigh- 
bor, M.  le  Vicomte  de  Lamare." 

The  vicomte  bowed,  expressed  the  desire  he  had 
long  felt  to  make  their  acquaintance,  and  began  to  talk 
with  the  ease  of  a  man  accustomed  to  good  society. 
His  face  was  one  that  women  raved  about  and  that  all 


UNE  VIE  27 

men  disliked.  His  black,  curly  hair  fell  over  a  smooth, 
bronzed  forehead,  and  long,  regular  eyebrows  gave  a 
depth  and  tenderness  to  his  dark  eyes.  Long,  thick 
lashes  lent  to  his  glance  the  passionate  eloquence  which 
thrills  the  heart  of  the  high-born  lady  in  her  boudoir, 
and  makes  the  poor  girl,  with  her  basket  on  her  arm, 
turn  round  in  the  street,  and  the  languorous  charm  of 
his  eyes,  with  their  whites  faintly  tinged  with  blue, 
gave  importance  to  his  least  word  and  made  people 
believe  in  the  profoundness  of  his  thought.  A  thick, 
silky  beard  hid  a  jaw  which  was  a  little  heavy. 

After  mutual  compliments  he  said  good-bye  to  the 
ladies;  and  two  days  afterwards  made  his  first  call 
at  the  chateau. 

He  arrived  just  as  they  were  looking  at  a  rustic-seat, 
placed  only  that  morning  under  the  big  plane-tree  op- 
posite the  drawing-room  windows.  The  baron  wanted 
to  have  another  one  under  the  linden  to  make  a  pair, 
but  the  baroness,  who  disliked  things  to  be  exactly  sym- 
metrical, said  no.  The  vicomte,  on  being  asked  his 
opinion,  sided  with  the  baroness. 

Then  he  talked  about  the  surrounding  country,  which 
he  thought  very  "  picturesque,"  and  about  the  charm- 
ing "  bits  "  he  had  come  across  in  his  solitary  walks. 
From  time  to  time  his  eyes  met  Jeanne's,  as  though  by 
chance;  and  she  felt  a  strange  sensation  at  these  sudden 
looks  which  were  quickly  turned  away  and  which  ex- 
pressed a  lively  admiration  and  sympathy. 

M.  de  Lamare's  father,  who  had  died  the  year  be- 
fore, had  known  an  intimate  friend  of  M.  des  Cul- 
taux,  the  baroness's  father,  and  the  discovery  of  this 
mutual  acquaintance  gave  rise  to  endless  conversation 
dbout  marriages,   births,   and  relationships.     The  bar- 


28  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

oness,  with  prodigious  feats  of  memory,  talked  about 
the  ancestors  and  descendants  of  numerous  families,  and 
traversed  the  complicated  labyrinths  of  different  gene- 
alogies without  ever  losing  herself. 

"  Tell  me,  vicomte,  have  you  ever  heard  of  the 
Saunoys  de  Varfleur?  Gontran,  the  elder  son,  married 
Mademoiselle  de  Coursil,  one  of  the  Coursil-Courvilles; 
and  the  younger  married  a  cousin  of  mine,  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Roche-Aubert,  who  was  related  to  the  Crisanges. 
Now,  M.  de  Crisange  was  an  intimate  friend  of  my 
father,  and  no  doubt  knew  yours  also." 

"  Yes,  madame;  was  it  not  the  M.  de  Crisange  who 
emigrated,  and  whose  son  ruined  himself?  " 

"  That  is  the  very  man.  He  had  proposed  for  my 
aunt  after  the  death  of  her  husband,  the  Comte 
d'Eretry,  but  she  would  not  accept  him  because  he  took 
snuff.  By  the  way,  do  you  know  what  has  become  of 
the  Viloises?  They  left  Touraine  about  1813,  after  a 
reverse  of  fortune,  to  go  and  live  in  Auvergne;  and  I 
have  never  heard  anything  of  them  since." 

"  I  believe,  madame,  that  the  old  marquis  was  killed 
by  a  fall  from  a  horse,  leaving  one  daughter  married 
to  an  Englishman,  and  the  other  to  a  rich  merchant 
who  had  seduced  her." 

Names  they  had  heard  their  parents  mention  when 
they  were  children  returned  to  their  minds,  and  the 
marriages  of  these  people  seemed  as  important  to  them 
as  great  public  events.  They  talked  about  men  and 
women  they  had  never  seen  as  if  they  knew  them  well, 
and  these  people,  living  so  far  away,  talked  about 
them  in  the  same  manner,  and  they  felt  as  though  they 
were  acquainted  with  each  other,  almost  as  if  they  were 


UNE  VIE  29 

friends,  or  relations,  simply  because  they  belonged  to 
the  same  class  and  were  of  equal  rank. 

The  baron  was  rather  unsociable,  his  philosophic 
views  disagreeing  with  the  beliefs  and  prejudices  of 
the  people  of  his  own  rank,  did  not  know  any  of  the 
families  living  near,  and  asked  the  vicomte  about  them. 

"  Oh,  there  are  very  good  families  around  here," 
answered  M.  de  Lamare,  in  the  same  tone  as  he  would 
have  said  that  there  were  not  many  rabbits  on  the 
hills,  and  he  entered  into  details  about  them. 

There  were  only  three  families  of  rank  in  the  neigh- 
borhood; the  Marquis  de  CouteHer,  the  head  of  the 
Normandy  aristocracy;  the  Vicomte  and  Vicomtesse  de 
Brisevllle,  people  who  were  very  well-born  but  held 
themselves  rather  aloof;  and  lastly,  the  Comte  de  Four- 
vllle,  a  sort  of  fire-eater  w^ho  was  said  to  be  worrying 
his  wife  to  death,  and  who  lived  in  the  Chateau  de  la 
Vrillette,  which  was  built  on  a  lake,  passing  his  time  In 
hunting  and  shooting.  A  few  parvenus  had  bought 
proper-ty  In  the  neighborhood,  but  the  vicomte  did  not 
know  them. 

He  rose  to  go,  and  his  last  look  was  for  Jeanne  as 
though  he  would  have  made  his  adieu  to  her  specially 
friendly  and  tender. 

The  baroness  thought  him  charming  and  very  comme 
il  faiit,  and  the  baron  remarked  that  he  was  a  very 
well-educated  man.  He  was  asked  to  dinner  the  fol- 
lowing week,  and  after  that  he  visited  the  chateau 
regularly. 

Generally  he  came  about  four  o'clock,  joined  the 
baroness  in  "  her  avenue,"  and  Insisted  on  her  leaning 
on  his  arm  to  take  "  her  exercise."     When  Jeanne  was 


30  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

at  home  she  supported  her  mother  on  the  other  side  and 
all  three  walked  slowly  up  and  down  the  long  path. 
He  did  not  talk  to  the  young  girl  but  often  his  dark, 
velvety  eyes  met  Jeanne's,  which  were  like  blue  agate. 

Sometimes  they  walked  down  to  Yport  with  the 
baron,  and  one  evening,  as  they  were  standing  on  the 
beach,  old  Lastique  came  up  to  them,  and,  without  tak- 
ing his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  for  it  would  have  been 
stranger  to  see  him  without  his  pipe  than  without  his 
nose,  said: 

"  With  this  wind,  M'sieu  I'baron,  you'd  be  able  to 
go  to  Etretat  and  back  to-morrow  quite  easily." 

Jeanne  clasped  her  hands  together;  "  Oh,  papa!  If 
only  you  would!  " 

The  baron  turned  to  M.  de  Lamare. 

*'  Will  you  go,  vicomte?  We  could  have  lunch  over 
there,"  And  the  excursion  was  planned  for  the  fol- 
lowing day. 

The  next  morning  Jeanne  was  up  at  daybreak.  She 
waited  for  her  father,  who  took  longer  to  dress,  and 
then  they  walked  over  the  dewy  plain  and  through  the 
wood  filled  with  the  sweet  song  of  the  birds,  down  to 
Yport,  where  they  found  the  vicomte  and  old  Lastique 
sitting  on  the  capstan  of  their  little  vessel. 

Two  sailors  helped  to  start  the  boat,  by  putting  their 
shoulders  to  the  sides  and  pushing  with  all  their  might. 
It  was  hard  to  move  over  the  level  part  of  the  beach, 
and  Lastique  slipped  rollers  of  greased  wood  under 
the  keel,  then  went  back  to  his  place  and  drawled  out  his 
long  "  Heave  oh !  "  which  was  the  signal  for  them  all 
to  push  together,  and  when  they  came  to  the  slant  of 
the  beach,  the  boat  set  off  all  at  once,  sliding  over  the 
round  pebbles,    and   making   a   grating   noise   like   the 


UNE  VIE  31 

tearing  of  linen.  It  stopped  short  at  the  edge  of  the 
waves  and  they  all  got  in,  except  the  two  sailors,  who 
pushed  the  boat  off. 

A  light,  steady  breeze  blowing  towards  the  land  just 
ruffled  the  surface  of  the  water.  The  sail  was  hoisted, 
filled  out  a  little,  and  the  boat  moved  gently  along 
hardly  rocked  by  the  waves. 

At  first  they  sailed  straight  out  to  sea.  At  the 
horizon  the  sky  could  not  be  distinguished  from  the 
ocean;  on  land  the  high  steep  cliff  had  a  deep  shadow 
at  its  foot.  Behind  could  be  seen  the  brown  sails  of 
the  boats  leaving  the  white  pier  of  Fecamp,  and  before 
lay  a  rounded  rock  with  a  hole  right  through  it,  look- 
ing like  an  elephant  thrusting  its  trunk  into  the  water. 

Jeanne,  feeling  a  little  dizzied  by  the  rocking  of  the 
boat,  sat  holding  one  side  with  her  hand,  and  looking 
out  to  sea ;  light,  space  and  the  ocean  seemed  to  her  to 
be  the  only  really  beautiful  things  in  creation.  No  one 
spoke.  From  time  to  time  old  Lastique,  who  was 
steering,  drank  something  out  of  a  bottle  placed  within 
his  reach  under  the  seat.  He  smoked  his  stump  of  a 
pipe  which  seemed  unextinguishable,  and  a  small  cloud 
of  blue  smoke  went  up  from  it  while  another  issued 
from  the  corner  of  his  mouth;  he  was  never  seen  to 
relight  the  clay  bowl,  which  was  colored  blacker  than 
ebony,  or  to  refill  It  with  tobacco,  and  he  only  removed 
the  pipe  from  his  mouth  to  eject  the  brown  saliva. 

The  baron  sat  in  the  bows  and  managed  the  sail,  per- 
forming the  duties  of  a  sailor,  and  Jeanne  and  the 
vicomte  were  side  by  side,  both  feeling  a  little  agitated. 
Their  glances  were  continually  meeting,  a  hidden  sym- 
pathy making  them  raise  their  eyes  at  the  same 
moment,  for  there  was  already  that  vague,  subtle  fond- 


32  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

ness  between  them  which  spruigs  up  so  quickly  between 
two  young  people  when  the  youth  is  good-looking  and 
the  girl  is  pretty.  They  felt  happy  at  being  close  to- 
gether, perhaps  because  each  was  thinking  of  the  other. 

The  sun  rose  higher  in  the  sky  as  if  to  consider 
from  a  better  vantage  point  the  vast  sea  stretched  out 
beneath  him,  while  the  latter,  like  a  coquette,  enveloped 
herself  in  a  light  mist  which  veiled  her  from  his  rays. 
It  was  a  transparent  golden  haze  which  hid  nothing  but 
softened  everything.  It  gradually  melted  away  before 
the  sun's  flaming  darts,  and  when  the  full  heat  of  the 
day  began  it  disappeared  entirely,  and  the  sea,  smooth 
as  glass,  lay  glittering  in  the  sun. 

Jeanne  murmured  enthusiastically,  "  How  lovely  it 
is!" 

The  vicomte  answered  "  Yes,  it  is  indeed  beautiful." 
And  their  hearts  felt  as  bright  as  the  clear  morning 
itself. 

Suddenly,  looking  as  if  the  cliff  bestrode  part  of  the 
sea,  appeared  the  great  arcades  of  Etretat,  high  enough 
for  a  ship  to  pass  underneath  him  without  the  point  of  a 
sharp  white  rock  rising  out  of  the  water  before  the 
first  one. 

When  they  reached  the  shore,  the  vicomte  lifted 
Jeanne  out  that  she  should  not  wet  her  feet  in  landing, 
while  the  baron  held  the  boat  close  to  the  beach  with 
a  rope;  then  they  went  up  the  steep,  shingly  beach  side 
by  side,  both  agitated  by  this  short  embrace,  and  they 
heard  old  Lastique  say  to  the  baron  : 

"  In  my  opinion  they'd  make  a  very  handsome 
couple." 

They  had  lunch  in  a  little  inn  near  the  beach.     On 


UNE  VIE  33 

the  sea  they  had  been  quiet,  but  at  the  table  they  had  as 
much  to  say  as  children  let  out  of  school. 

The  most  simple  things  gave  rise  to  endless  laughter. 
Old  Lastique  carefully  put  his  pipe,  which  was  still 
alight,  into  his  cap  before  he  sat  down  to  table;  and 
everyone  laughed.  A  fly,  attracted,  no  doubt,  by  the 
sailor's  red  nose,  persisted  on  settling  on  it,  and  when 
moving  too  slowly  to  catch  it  he  knocked  it  away,  it 
went  over  to  a  very  fly-spotted  curtain  whence  it  seemed 
to  eagerly  watch  the  sailor's  highly-colored  nasal  organ, 
for  it  soon  flew  back  and  settled  on  it  again. 

Each  time  the  insect  returned  a  loud  laugh  burst  out, 
and  when  the  old  man,  annoyed  by  its  tickling,  mur- 
mured: "What  a  confoundly  obstinate  fly!  "  Jeanne 
and  the  vicomte  laughed  till  they  cried,  holding  their 
serviettes  to  their  mouths  to  prevent  themselves  shriek- 
ing out  loud. 

When  the  coffee  had  been  served  Jeanne  said : 

"  Suppose  we  go  for  a  walk?  " 

The  vicomte  got  up  to  go  with  her,  but  the  baron, 
preferred  going  out  on  the  beach  to  take  his  nap. 

"  You  two  go,"  he  said.  "  You  will  find  me  here  in 
an  hour's  time." 

They  walked  straight  along  the  road,  passed  a  few 
cottages  and  a  little  chateau  which  looked  more  like  a 
big  farm,  and  then  found  themselves  in  an  open  valley. 
Jeanne  had  a  singing  In  her  ears,  and  was  thrilled  by 
a  strange  sensation  which  she  had  never  before  expe- 
rienced. Overhead  was  a  blazing  sun,  and  on  each  side 
of  the  road  lay  fields  of  ripe  corn  drooping  under  the 
heat.      The  feeble,  continuous  chirp  of  the  swarms  of 

grasshoppers  in  the  corn  and  hedges  was  the  only  sound 
V— 3 


34  A  WOiMAN'S  LIFE 

to  be  heard,  and  the  sky  of  dazzling  blue,  slightly  tinged 
with  yellow,  looked  as  though  it  would  suddenly  turn 
red,  like  brass  when  it  is  put  into  a  furnace. 

They  entered  a  little  wood  where  the  trees  were  so 
thick  that  no  sunbeams  could  penetrate  their  foliage; 
the  grass  had  died  from  want  of  light  and  fresh  air, 
but  the  ground  was  covered  with  moss,  and  all  around 
was  a  cool  dampness  which  chilled  them  after  the  heat 
of  the  sun. 

*'  See,  we  could  sit  down  over  there,"  said  Jeanne, 
looking  around  her  as  they  walked  on. 

Two  trees  had  died,  and  through  the  break  in  the 
foliage  fell  a  flood  of  light,  warming  the  earth,  calling 
to  life  the  grass  and  dandelion  seeds,  and  expanding 
the  delicate  flowers  of  the  anemone  and  digitalis.  A 
thousand  winged  insects  —  butterflies,  bees,  hornets,  big 
gnats  looking  like  skeleton-flies,  ladybirds  with  red  spots 
on  them,  beetles  with  greenish  reflections  on  their  wings, 
others  which  were  black  and  horned  —  peopled  this 
one  warm  and  luminous  spot  in  the  midst  of  the  cool 
shadow  of  the  trees. 

Jeanne  and  the  vicomte  sat  down  with  their  heads  in 
the  shadow  and  their  feet  in  the  light.  They  watched 
these  tiny  moving  Insects  that  a  sunbeam  had  called 
forth,  and  Jeanne  said  softly: 

"  How  lovely  the  country  Is !  Sometimes  I  wish  I 
were  a  bee  or  a  butterfly  that  I  might  bury  myself  In 
the  flowers." 

They  began  talking  about  their  own  habits  and  tastes 
in  a  low,  confidential  tone.  He  declared  himself  tired 
of  his  useless  life,  disgusted  with  society;  It  was  always 
the  same,  one  never  found  any  truth,  any  sincerity.  She 
would  have  liked  to  know  what  town-life  was  like  but 


UNE  VIE  35 

she  was  convinced  beforehand  that  society  would  never 
be  so  pleasant  as  a  country-life. 

The  nearer  their  hearts  drew  to  one  another  the  more 
studiously  did  they  address  each  other  as  "  monsieur  " 
and  "mademoiselle";  but  they  could  not  help  their 
eyes  smiling  and  their  glances  meeting,  and  it  seemed  to 
them  that  new  and  better  feelings  were  entering  their 
hearts,  making  them  ready  to  love  and  take  an  interest 
in  things  they  had  before  cared  nothing  about. 

When  they  returned  from  their  walk  they  found  that 
the  baron  had  gone  to  a  cave  formed  in  the  clift,  called 
the  Chambre  aux  Desmoiselles,  so  they  waited  for  him 
at  the  inn,  where  he  did  not  appear  till  five  o'clock,  and 
then  they  started  to  go  home.  The  boat  glided  along 
so  smoothly  that  it  hardly  seemed  to  be  moving;  the 
wind  came  in  gentle  puffs  filling  the  sail  one  second 
only  to  let  it  flap  loosely  against  the  mast  the  next,  and 
the  tired  sun  was  slowly  approaching  the  sea.  The 
stillness  around  made  them  all  silent  for  a  long  while, 
but  at  last  Jeanne  said: 

"  How  I  should  like  to  travel !  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  would  be  rather  dull  traveling  alone," 
said  the  vicomte.  "  You  want  a  companion  to  whom 
you  could  confide  your  impressions." 

"  That  is  true,"  she  answered  thoughtfully;  "  still,  I 
like  to  go  for  long  walks  alone.  When  there  is  no  one 
with  me  I  build  such  castles  in  the  air." 

"  But  two  people  can  better  still  plan  out  a  happy 
future,"  he  said,  looking  her  full  in  the  face. 

Her  eyes  fell;  did  he  mean  anything?  She  gazed  at 
the  horizon  as  though  she  would  look  beyond  it;  then 
she  said  slowly : 

"  T  should  like  to  go  to  Italy  —  and  to  Greece  —  and 


36  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

to  Corsica,  It  must  be  so  wild  and  so  beautiful  there." 

He  preferred  the  chalets  and  lakes  of  Switzerland. 

She  said:  "  No,  I  should  like  to  go  either  to  a  coun- 
try with  little  or  no  history  like  Corsica,  or  else  to  one 
with  very  old  associations  like  Greece.  It  must  be  so 
interesting  to  find  the  traces  of  those  nations  whose  his- 
tory one  has  known  from  childhood,  and  to  see  the 
places  where  such  great  and  noble  deeds  were  done." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,  I  should  like  to  go  to  England; 
it  is  such  an  instructive  country,"  said  the  vicomte,  who 
was  more  practical  than  Jeanne. 

Then  they  discussed  the  beauties  of  every  country  from 
the  poles  to  the  equator,  and  went  Into  raptures  over 
the  unconventional  customs  of  such  nations  as  the  Chi- 
nese or  the  Laplanders;  but  they  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  most  beautiful  land  In  the  world  Is  France,  with 
her  temperate  climate  —  cool  In  summer  and  warm  In 
winter  —  her  fertile  fields,  her  green  forests,  her  great, 
calm  rivers,  and  her  culture  in  the  fine  arts  which  has 
existed  nowhere  else  since  the  palmy  days  of  Athens. 

Silence  again  fell  over  the  little  party.  The  blood- 
red  sun  was  sinking,  and  a  broad  pathway  of  light  lay 
in  the  wake  of  the  boat  leading  right  up  to  the  dazzling 
globe.  The  wind  died  out,  there  was  not  a  ripple  on 
the  water,  and  the  motionless  sail  was  reddened  by  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun.  The  air  seemed  to  possess  some 
soothing  Influence  which  silenced  everything  around  this 
meeting  of  the  elements.  The  sea,  like  some  huge  bird, 
awaited  the  fiery  lover  who  was  approaching  her  shin- 
ing, liquid  bosom,  and  the  sun  hastened  his  descent,  em- 
purpled by  the  desire  of  their  embrace.  At  length  he 
joined  her,  and  gradually  disappeared.  Then  a  fresh- 
ness came  from  the  horizon,  and  a  breath  of  air  rippled 


UNE  VIE  37 

the  surface  of  the  water  as  if  the  vanished  sun  had  given 
a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

The  twilight  was  very  short,  and  the  sky  soon  be- 
came dark  and  studded  with  stars.  Lastique  got  out 
the  oars,  and  Jeanne  and  the  vicomte  sat  side  by  side 
watching  the  trembling,  phosphorescent  glimmer  behind 
the  boat  and  feeling  a  keen  enjoyment  even  in  breathing 
the  cool  night  air.  The  vicomte's  fingers  were  resting 
against  Jeanne's  hand  which  was  lying  on  the  seat,  and 
she  did  not  draw  it  away,  the  slight  contact  making  her 
feel  happy  and  yet  confused. 

When  she  went  to  her  room  that  evening  Jeanne 
felt  so  moved  that  the  least  thing  would  have  made  her 
cry.  She  looked  at  the  clock  and  fancied  that  the  little 
bee  throbbed  like  a  friendly  heart;  she  thought  of  how 
it  would  be  the  silent  witness  of  her  whole  life,  how  it 
would  accompany  all  her  joys  and  sorrows  with  its 
quick,  regular  beat,  and  she  stopped  the  gilded  insect 
to  drop  a  kiss  upon  its  wings.  She  could  have  kissed 
anything,  no  matter  what,  and  suddenly  remembering 
an  old  doll  she  had  hidden  away  in  the  bottom  of  a 
drawer,  she  got  it  out  and  found  as  much  joy  in  seeing 
it  again  as  if  it  had  been  an  old  well-loved  friend. 
Pressing  it  to  her  bosom  she  covered  its  painted  cheeks 
and  flaxen  hair  with  warm  kisses,  then,  still  holding  it 
in  her  arms,  she  began  to  think. 

Was  HE  the  husband  referred  to  by  so  many  inward 
voices,  and  was  it  by  a  supremely-kind  Providence  that 
he  was  thus  sent  into  her  life?  Was  he  really  the  being 
created  for  her,  to  whom  her  whole  existence  would  be 
devoted?  Were  he  and  she  really  predestined  to  unite 
their  hearts  and  so  beget  Love?  She  did  not  yet  experi- 
ence those  tumultuous  feelings,  those  wild  raptures,  that 


38  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

profound  stirring  of  her  whole  soul,  which  she  believed 
to  be  love;  still  she  thought  she  was  beginning  to  love 
him,  for  sometimes  she  felt  her  senses  fail  her  when 
she  thought  of  him  and  she  always  was  thinking  of  him. 
Her  heart  throbbed  in  his  presence,  her  color  came  and 
went  when  she  met  his  glance,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice 
sent  a  thrill  through  her.  That  night  she  hardly  slept 
at  all. 

Each  day  her  longing  for  love  became  greater.  She 
was  always  consulting  the  marguerites,  or  the  clouds,  or 
tossing  a  coin  in  the  air  to  see  whether  she  was  loved 
or  not. 

One  ev^ening  her  father  said  to  her: 

"  Make  yourself  look  very  pretty  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, Jeanne." 

"  Why,  papa?  "  she  asked. 

"  That's  a  secret,"  replied  the  baron. 

When  she  came  down  the  next  morning,  looking  fresh 
and  bright  in  a  light  summer  dress,  she  found  the  draw- 
ing-room table  covered  with  bon-bon  boxes,  and  an  enor- 
mous bouquet  on  a  chair. 

A  cart  turned  in  at  the  gateway  with  "  Lerat,  Confec- 
tioner, Contractor  for  Wedding-breakfasts  "  on  it,  and 
Ludivine,  with  the  aid  of  a  scullery-maid,  took  from 
it  a  great  many  flat  baskets  from  which  issued  an  appe- 
tizing odor. 

The  vicomte  came  in  soon  after;  his  trousers  were 
fastened  tightly  under  the  varnished  boots  which 
showed  off  his  small  feet  to  perfection.  His  tightly- 
fitting  coat  was  closely  fastened,  except  on  the  chest, 
where  it  opened  to  show  the  lace  shirt-frill;  and  a  fine 
cravat,  twisted  several  times  round  his  neck,  forced  him 
tn  hold  up  his  handsome  dark  head.     His  careful  toilet 


UNE  VIE  39 

made  him  look  different  from  usual,  and  Jeanne  stared 
at  him  as  though  she  had  never  seen  him  before;  she 
thought  he  looked  a  perfect  gentleman  from  head  to 
foot. 

He  bowed,  and  asked  with  a  smile : 
"  Well,  godmother,  are  you  ready?  " 
"What    do    you    mean?"    stammered    out    Jeanne. 
"What  Is  It  all  about?" 

"  Oh,  you  shall  know  just  now,"  answered  the  baron. 
The  carriage  drew  up  before  the  door  and  Madame 
Adelaide,  in  a  handsome  dress,  came  downstairs  leaning 
on  Rosalie,  who  was  struck  with  such  admiration  at 
the  sight  of  M.  de  Lamare's  elegant  appearance,  that 
the  baron  murmured : 

"  I  say,  vicomte,  I  think  our  maid  likes  the  look  of 
you." 

The  vicomte  blushed  up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  pre- 
tended not  to  hear  what  the  baron  said,  and,  taking  up 
the  big  bouquet,  presented  it  to  Jeanne.  She  took  it, 
feeling  still  more  astonished,  and  all  four  got  Into  the 
carriage. 

"Really,  madame,  It  looks  like  a  wedding!"  ex- 
claimed the  cook,  Ludivine,  who  had  brought  some  cold 
broth  for  the  baroness  to  have  before  she  started. 

When  they  reached  Yport  they  got  out,  and,  as  they 
w^alked  through  the  village,  the  sailors  In  new  clothes 
which  still  showed  where  the  cloth  had  been  folded, 
came  out  of  the  houses,  touched  their  hats,  shook  the 
baron  by  the  hand,  and  followed  behind  them,  forming 
a  procession,  at  the  head  of  which  walked  the  vicomte 
with  Jeanne  on  his  arm. 

On  arriving  at  the  church  a  halt  was  made.  A  choir- 
boy came  out  carrying  a  great  silver  cross,  followed  by 


40  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

another  pink  and  white  urchin  carrying  the  holy  water 
with  the  brush  in  it;  behind  them  came  three  old  chor- 
isters, one  of  whom  limped,  then  the  serpent-player, 
then  the  cure  in  a  stole  with  a  gold  cross  embroidered 
on  it.  He  saluted  the  baron's  party  with  a  smile  and  a 
nod,  then,  with  half-closed  eyes,  his  lips  moving  in 
prayer,  his  miter  pushed  down  over  his  eyes,  he  fol- 
lowed his  surpliced  subordinates  down  to  the  sea. 

On  the  beach  a  crowd  was  waiting  round  a  new  boat 
decorated  all  over  with  garlands;  its  mast,  sail,  and 
ropes  were  covered  with  long  ribbons  which  fluttered  in 
the  breeze,  and  its  name,  "  Jeanne,"  was  on  the  stern 
in  gilt  letters.  Old  Lastique  was  the  master  of  this 
boat  that  the  baron  had  had  built,  and  he  advanced  to 
meet  the  procession. 

At  the  sight  of  the  cross  all  the  men  took  off  their 
caps,  and  a  line  of  nuns,  enveloped  in  their  long, 
straight,  black  mantles,  knelt  down.  The  cure  went  to 
one  end  of  the  boat  with  the  two  choir-boys,  while  at 
the  other  the  three  old  choristers,  with  their  dirty  faces 
and  hairy  chins  shown  up  by  their  white  surplices,  sang 
at  the  top  of  their  voices.  Each  time  they  paused  to 
take  breath,  the  serpent-player  continued  his  music 
alone,  and  he  blew  out  his  cheeks  till  his  little  gray  eyes 
could  not  be  seen  and  the  very  skin  of  his  forehead  and 
neck  looked  as  if  it  was  separated  from  the  flesh. 

The  calm,  transparent  sea,  its  ripples  breaking  on  the 
shore  with  a  faint,  grating  noise,  seemed  to  be  watching 
the  christening  of  the  tiny  boat.  Great,  white  sea-gulls 
flew  by  with  outstretched  wings,  and  then  returned  over 
the  heads  of  the  kneeling  crowd  with  a  sweeping  flight 
as  though  they  wanted  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

The  chanting  stopped  after  an  "  Amen  "  which  was 


UNE  VIE  41 

repeated  and  sustained  for  five  minutes,  and  the  priest 
gabbled  some  Latin  words  of  which  only  the  sonorous 
terminations  could  be  made  out.  Then  he  walked  all 
round  the  boat  sprinkling  it  with  holy  water,  and  com- 
menced to  murmur  the  oremus,  stopping  opposite  the 
two  sponsors,  who  were  standing  hand  in  hand. 

The  young  man's  handsome  face  was  quite  calm,  but 
the  young  girl,  almost  suffocated  by  the  palpitation  of 
her  heart,  felt  as  though  she  should  faint,  and  she  trem- 
bled so  violently  that  her  teeth  chattered.  The  dream 
that  had  haunted  her  for  so  long  seemed  all  at  once  to 
have  become  a  reality.  She  had  heard  this  ceremony 
compared  to  a  wedding,  the  priest  was  there  uttering 
blessings,  and  surpliced  men  were  chanting  prayers; 
surely  she  was  being  married  ! 

Did  the  vicomte  feel  the  nervous  trembling  of  her 
fingers?  Did  his  heart  sympathize  with  hers?  Did 
he  understand?  did  he  guess?  was  he  also  under  the  in- 
fluence of  an  all-absorbing  love-dream  ?  Or  was  it  only 
the  knowledge  that  women  found  him  irresistible  that 
made  him  press  her  hand,  gently  at  first,  then  harder 
and  harder  till  he  hurt  her?  Then,  without  changing 
the  expression  of  his  face,  that  no  one  might  notice 
him,  he  said  very  distinctly:  "Oh,  Jeanne,  if  you 
liked,  this  might  be  our  betrothal!  " 

She  slowly  bent  her  head  with  a  movement  which  per- 
haps meant  "  yes  ";  and  some  drops  of  holy  water  fell 
on  their  hands. 

The  ceremony  was  over;  the  women  rose  from  their 
knees,  and  everyone  began  to  hurry  back.  The  choir- 
boy let  the  cross  swing  from  side  to  side,  or  tilt  for- 
ward till  it  nearly  fell;  the  cure,  no  longer  praying,  hur- 
ried behind  him;  the  choristers  and  the  serpent-player 


42  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

disappeared  down  a  narrow  turning  to  get  back  and  un- 
dress quickly,  the  sailors  hastened  past  in  twos  and 
threes;  a  good  lunch  was  waiting  for  them  at  Les  Peu- 
ples  and  the  very  thought  of  it  quickened  their  pace  and 
made  their  mouths  water. 

Sixty  sailors  and  peasants  sat  down  to  the  long  table 
laid  in  the  courtyard  under  the  apple  trees.  The  bar- 
oness sat  at  the  middle  of  the  table  with  the  cure  from 
Yport  on  one  side  of  her  and  the  Abbe  Picot  on  the 
other ;  opposite  her  was  the  baron  between  the  mayor 
and  his  wife.  The  mayoress  was  a  thin,  elderly  country 
woman  with  a  nod  for  everyone;  her  big  Normandy  cap 
fitted  close  round  her  thin  face,  making  her  head,  with  its 
round,  astonished-looking  eyes,  look  like  a  white-tufted 
fowl's,  and  she  ate  In  little  jerks  as  If  she  were  pecking 
at  her  plate. 

Jeanne  was  silent,  seeing  nothing,  hearing  nothing, 
her  head  turned  with  joy.     At  last  she  asked  the  vi- 
comte,  who  was  sitting  beside  her : 
"  What  is  your  Christian  name?  " 
"  Julien,"  he  replied;  "  did  you  not  know?  " 
She    did    not    answer    him,    for    she    was    thinking: 
*'  How  often  I  shall  repeat  that  name  to  myself." 

When  lunch  was  over,  the  courtyard  was  left  to  the 
sailors.  The  baroness  began  to  take  her  exercise,  lean- 
ing on  the  baron  and  accompanied  by  the  two  priests^ 
and  Jeanne  and  Julien  walked  down  to  the  wood,  and 
wandered  along  its  little  winding  paths.  All  at  once 
he  took  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  "  will  you  be  my  wife?  " 

She  hung  her  head,  and  he  pleaded: 

"  Do  not  keep  me  In  suspense,  I  implore  you." 


UNE  VIE  43 

Then  she  slowly  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  in  that 
look  he  read  her  answer. 


IV 

The  baron  went  into  Jeanne's  room  before  she  was 
up  one  morning  soon  after  the  christening  of  the  boat, 
and  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  M.  le  Vicomte  de  Lamare  has  proposed  for  you," 
he  said. 

Jeanne  would  have  liked  to  hide  her  head  under  the 
bed-clothes. 

"  We  told  him  we  must  think  over  his  proposal  be- 
fore we  could  give  him  an  answer,"  continued  the  baron, 
who  was  smiling.  "  We  did  not  wish  to  arrange  any- 
thing without  first  consulting  you;  your  mother  and  I 
made  no  objection  to  the  marriage,  but  at  the  same  time 
we  did  not  make  any  promise.  You  are  a  great  deal 
richer  than  he  is,  but  when  the  happiness  of  a  life  is 
at  stake  the  question  of  money  ought  not  to  be  consid- 
ered. He  has  no  relations,  so  if  you  married  him  we 
should  gain  a  son,  whereas  if  you  married  anyone  else 
you  would  have  to  go  among  strangers,  and  we  should 
lose  our  daughter.  We  like  the  young  fellow,  but  the 
question  is,  do  you  like  him?  " 

"  I  am  quite  willing  to  marry  him,  papa,"  she  stam- 
mered out,  blushing  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

The  baron  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  said  with  a 
smile:      "  I  thought  as  much,  mademoiselle." 

Until  that  evening  Jeanne  hardly  knew  what  she  was 
doing.  She  went  through  everything  mechanically, 
feeling  thoroughly  worn  out  with  fatigue,  although  she 


44  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

had  done  nothing  to  tire  her.  The  vicomte  came  about 
six  o'clock  and  found  her  sitting  with  her  mother  under 
the  plane-tree,  and  Jeanne's  heart  beat  wildly  as  the 
young  man  came  calmly  towards  them.  He  kissed  the 
baroness's  fingers,  then,  raising  the  young  girl's  trem- 
bling hand  to  his  lips,  he  imprinted  on  it  a  long,  tender 
kiss  of  gratitude. 

The  happy  betrothal  time  began.  The  young  couple 
spent  their  days  sitting  on  the  slope  leading  to  the  waste 
land  beyond  the  wood,  or  walking  up  and  down  the  bar- 
oness's avenue,  she  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  dusty  track 
her  mother's  foot  had  made,  he  talking  of  the  future. 
Once  the  marriage  agreed  to,  they  wanted  it  to  take 
place  as  soon  as  possible,  so  it  was  decided  that  they 
should  be  married  in  six  weeks'  time,  on  the  15th  of 
August,  and  that  they  should  start  on  their  wedding 
tour  almost  immediately  afterwards.  When  Jeanne 
was  asked  to  what  country  she  should  like  to  go,  she 
chose  Corsica,  where  they  would  be  more  alone  than  in 
Italy. 

They  awaited  the  time  of  their  union  without  very 
much  impatience,  vaguely  desiring  more  passionate  em- 
braces, and  yet  satisfied  with  a  slight  caress,  a  pressure 
of  the  hand,  a  gaze  so  long  that  each  seemed  to  read 
the  other's  heart  through  their  eyes. 

No  one  was  to  be  asked  to  the  wedding  besides  Aunt 
Lison,  the  baroness's  sister,  who  was  a  lady-boarder  in 
a  convent  at  Versailles. 

After  their  father's  death  the  baroness  wanted  her 
sister  to  live  with  her,  but  the  old  maid  was  convinced 
that  she  was  a  nuisance  to  everybody,  and  always  in  the 
way,  and  she  took  apartments  in  one  of  the  convents 
which  open  their  doors  to  the  solitary  and  unhappy, 


UNE  VIE  45 

though  she  occasionally  spent  a  month  or  two  ^Yith  her 
relations.  She  was  a  small  woman  with  very  little  to 
say,  and  always  kept  in  the  background;  when  she  stayed 
with  the  baroness  she  was  only  seen  at  meal  times,  the 
rest  of  the  day  she  spent  shut  up  in  her  room.  She  had 
a  kind,  rather  old-looking  face,  although  she  was  only 
forty-two,  with  sad,  meek  eyes.  Her  wishes  had  always 
been  sacrificed  to  those  of  everyone  else.  As  a  child 
she  had  always  sat  quietly  in  some  corner,  never  kissed 
because  she  was  neither  pretty  nor  noisy,  and  as  a  young 
girl  no  one  had  ever  troubled  about  her.  Her  sister, 
following  the  example  of  her  parents,  ahvays  thought 
of  her  as  of  someone  of  no  importance,  almost  like  some 
object  of  furniture  which  she  was  accustomed  to  see 
every  day  but  which  never  occupied  her  thoughts. 

She  seemed  ashamed  of  her  name,  Lise,  because  it 
was  so  girlish  and  pretty,  and  when  there  seemed  no 
likelihood  of  her  marrying,  "  Lise  "  had  gradually 
changed  to  "  Lison."  Since  the  birth  of  Jeanne  she 
had  become  "  Aunt  Lison,"  a  sort  of  poor  relation 
whom  everyone  treated  with  a  careless  familiarity 
which  hid  a  good-natured  contempt.  She  was  prim 
and  very  timid  even  with  her  sister  and  brother-in-law, 
who  liked  her  as  they  liked  everyone,  but  whose  affec- 
tion was  formed  of  an  Indifferent  kindness,  and  an  un- 
conscious compassion. 

Sometimes  when  the  baroness  was  speaking  of  the 
far-away  time  of  her  childhood  she  would  say  to  fix  a 
date:  "It  was  about  the  time  of  Lison's  mad  at- 
tempt." She  never  said  anything  more,  and  there  was 
a  certain  mystery  about  this  "  mad  attempt," 

One  evening,  when  she  was  about  nineteen  years  old, 
Lise  had  tried  to  drown  herself.     No  one  could  under- 


46  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

stand  the  reason  of  this  act  of  folly;  there  was  nothing 
in  her  life  or  habits  to  at  all  account  for  it.  She  had 
been  rescued  half-dead,  and  her  parents,  shocked  at  the 
deed,  had  not  attempted  to  discover  its  cause,  but  had 
only  talked  about  her  "  mad  attempt,"  in  the  same  way 
as  they  had  spoken  of  the  accident  to  the  horse  Coco, 
when  he  had  broken  his  leg  in  a  ditch  and  had  to  be 
killed.  Since  then  Lise  had  been  thought  very  weak- 
minded,  and  everyone  around  her  gradually  came  to 
look  upon  her  with  the  mild  contempt  with  which  her 
relations  regarded  her;  even  little  Jeanne,  perceiving 
with  the  quickness  of  a  child  how  her  parents  treated 
her  aunt,  never  ran  to  kiss  her  or  thought  of  perform- 
ing any  little  services  for  her.  No  one  ever  went  to 
her  room,  and  Rosalie,  the  maid,  alone  seemed  to  know 
where  it  was  situated.  If  anyone  wanted  to  speak  to 
her  a  servant  was  sent  to  find  her,  and  if  she  could  not 
be  found  no  one  troubled  about  her,  no  one  thought  of 
her,  no  one  would  ever  have  dreamt  of  saying : 

*'  Dear  me !  I  have  not  seen  Lison  this  morning." 
When  she  came  down  to  breakfast  of  a  morning,  lit- 
tle Jeanne  went  and  held  up  her  face  for  a  kiss,  and 
that  was  the  only  greeting  she  received.  She  had  no 
position  in  the  house  and  seemed  destined  never  to  be 
understood  even  by  her  relations,  never  able  to  gain  their 
love  or  confidence,  and  when  she  died  she  would  leave 
no  empty  chair,  no  sense  of  loss  behind  her. 

When  anyone  said  "  Aunt  Lison  "  the  words  caused 
no  more  feeling  of  affection  in  anyone's  heart  than  if  the 
coffee  pot  or  sugar  basin  had  been  mentioned.  She  al- 
ways walked  with  little,  quick,  noiseless  steps,  never 
making  any  noise,  never  stumbling  against  anything,  and 
her  hands  seemed  to  be  made  of  velvet,  so  light  and 


UNE  VIE  47 

delicate  was  their  handling  of  anything  she  touched. 

Lison  arrived  at  the  chateau  about  the  middle  of 
July,  quite  upset  by  the  idea  of  the  marriage;  she 
brought  a  great  many  presents  which  did  not  receive 
much  attention  as  she  was  the  giver,  and  the  day  after 
her  arrival  no  one  noticed  she  was  there.  She  could 
not  take  her  eyes  off  the  sweethearts,  and  busied  her- 
self about  the  trousseau  with  a  strange  energy,  a  fever- 
ish excitement,  working  in  her  room,  where  no  one  came 
to  see  her,  like  a  common  seamstress.  She  was  always 
showing  the  baroness  some  handkerchiefs  she  had 
hemmed,  or  some  towels  on  which  she  had  embroidered 
the  monogram,  and  asking : 

*'  Do  you  like  that,  Adelaide?  " 

The  baroness  would  carelessly  look  at  the  work  and 
answer : 

"  Don't  take  so  much  trouble  over  it,  my  dear  Lison." 

About  the  end  of  the  month,  after  a  day  of  sultry 
heat,  the  moon  rose  in  one  of  those  warm,  clear  nights 
which  seem  to  draw  forth  all  the  hidden  poetry  of  the 
soul.  The  soft  breeze  fluttered  the  hangings  of  the 
quiet  drawing-room,  and  the  shaded  lamp  cast  a  ring 
of  soft  light  on  the  table  where  the  baroness  and  her 
husband  were  playing  cards.  Aunt  Lison  was  sitting  by 
them  knitting,  and  the  young  people  were  leaning 
against  the  open  window,  looking  out  at  the  garden  as 
it  lay  bathed  in  light. 

The  shadows  of  the  linden  and  the  plane  tree  fell  on 
the  moonlit  grass  which  stretched  away  to  the  shadows 
of  the  wood. 

Irresistibly  attracted  by  the  beauty  of  the  sight, 
Jeanne  turned  and  said  : 

"  Papa,  we  are  going  for  a  walk  on  the  grass." 


48  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,"  answered  the  baron,  without 
looking  up  from  his  game. 

Jeanne  and  the  vicomte  went  out  and  walked  slowly 
down  the  grass  till  they  reached  the  little  wood  at  the 
bottom.  They  stayed  out  so  long  that  at  last  the  bar- 
oness, feeling  tired  and  wanting  to  go  to  her  room,  said : 

"  We  must  call  in  the  lovers." 

The  baron  glanced  at  the  moonlit  garden,  where  the 
two  figures  could  be  seen  walking  slowly  about. 

"  Leave  them  alone,"  he  answered,  "  it  is  so  pleasant 
out  of  doors ;  Lison  will  wait  up  for  them ;  won't  you, 
Lison?" 

The  old  maid  looked  up,  and  answered  in  her  timid 
voice:      "  Oh,  yes,  certainly." 

The  baron  helped  his  wife  to  rise,  and,  tired  himself 
by  the  heat  of  the  day, 

"  I  will  go  to  bed,  too,"  he  said.  And  he  went  up- 
stairs with  the  baroness. 

Then  Aunt  Lison  got  up,  and,  leaving  her  work  on 
the  arm  of  the  easy  chair,  leant  out  of  the  window  and 
looked  at  the  glorious  night.  The  two  sweethearts 
were  walking  backwards  and  forwards  across  the  grass, 
silently  pressing  each  other's  hands,  as  they  felt  the 
sweet  influence  of  the  visible  poetry  that  surrounded 
them. 

Jeanne  saw  the  old  maid's  profile  in  the  window,  with 
the  lighted  lamp  behind. 

"  Look,"  she  said,  "  Aunt  Lison  is  watching  us." 

"  Yes,  so  she  is,"  answered  the  vicomte  in  the  tone  of 
one  who  speaks  without  thinking  of  what  he  is  saying; 
and  they  continued  their  slow  walk  and  their  dreams  of 
love.  But  the  dew  was  falling,  and  they  began  to  feel 
chilled. 


UNE  VIE  49 

*'  We  had  better  go  in  now,"  said  Jeanne. 

They  went  into  the  drawing-room,  and  found  Aunt 
Lison  bending  over  the  knitting  she  had  taken  up  again; 
her  thin  fingers  were  treliibling  as  if  they  were  very 
tired.     Jeanne  went  up  to  her. 

"  Aunt,  we  will  go  to  bed  now,"  she  said. 

The  old  maid  raised  her  eyes;  they  were  red  as  if  she 
had  been  crying,  but  neither  of  the  lovers  noticed  it. 
Suddenly  the  young  man  saw  that  Jeanne's  thin  slippers 
were  quite  wet,  and  fearing  she  would  catch  cold : 

"  Are  not  your  dear  little  feet  cold?  "  he  asked  affec- 
tionately. 

Aunt  Lison's  fingers  trembled  so  they  could  no 
longer  hold  the  work;  her  ball  of  wool  rolled  across  the 
floor,  and,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands,  she  began 
to  sob  convulsively.  For  a  moment  Jeanne  and  the 
vicomte  stood  looking  at  her  in  mute  surprise,  then 
Jeanne,  feeling  frightened,  knelt  down  beside  her,  drew 
away  her  hands  from  her  face,  and  asked  in  dismay : 

"  What  is  it.  Aunt  Lison?  What  is  the  matter  with 
you?" 

The  poor,  old  maid,  trembling  all  over,  stammered 
out  in  a  broken  voice: 

"  When  he  asked  you  —  '  Are  —  are  not  your  dear 
little  feet  —  cold?  ' —  I  —  I  thought  how  no  one  had 
—  had  ever  said  anything  like  that  to  me." 

Jeanne  felt  full  of  pity  for  her  aunt,  but  it  seemed 
very  funny  to  think  of  anyone  making  love  to  Lison, 
and  the  vicomte  turned  his  head  away  to  hide  his  laugh- 
ter. Lison  started  up,  left  her  wool  on  the  ground  and 
her  knitting  on  the  armchair,  and  abruptly  leaving  the 
room,  groped  her  way  up  the  dark  staircase  to  her  bed- 
room. 

V— 4 


50  A  WOiMAN'S  LIFE 

The  two  young  people  looked  at  one  another,  feeling 
sorry  for  her,  and  yet  rather  amused. 

"  Poor  auntie,"  murmured  Jeanne. 

"  She  must  be  a  little  mad  this  evening,"  replied 
Julien. 

They  were  holding  each  other's  hands  as  if  they 
could  not  make  up  their  minds  to  say  good-night,  and 
very  gently  they  exchanged  their  first  kiss  before  Aunt 
Lison's  empty  chair.  The  next  day  they  had  forgotten 
all  about  the  old  maid's  tears. 

The  fortnight  before  her  marriage,  Jeanne  passed 
calmly  and  peacefully,  as  if  she  were  almost  exhausted 
by  the  number  of  pleasant  hours  she  had  lately  had. 
The  morning  of  the  eventful  day  she  had  no  time  to 
think;  she  was  only  conscious  of  a  great  sense  of  noth- 
ingness within  her,  as  if  beneath  her  skin,  her  flesh,  and 
blood,  and  bones  had  vanished,  and  she  noticed  how  her 
fingers  trembled  when  she  touched  anything. 

She  did  not  regain  her  self-possession  till  she  was 
going  through  the  marriage  service.  Married!  She 
was  married !  Everything  which  had  happened  since 
dawn  seemed  a  dream,  and  all  around  her  seemed 
changed;  people's  gestures  had  a  new  meaning;  even 
the  hours  of  the  day  did  not  seem  to  be  in  their  right 
places.  She  felt  stunned  at  the  change.  The  day 
before  nothing  had  been  altered  in  her  life;  her  dearest 
hope  had  only  become  nearer  —  almost  within  her 
grasp.  She  had  fallen  asleep  a  girl,  now  she  was  a 
woman.  She  had  crossed  the  barrier  which  hides  the 
future  with  all  its  expected  joys  and  fancied  happiness, 
and  she  saw  before  her  an  open  door;  she  was  at  last 
going  to  realize  her  dreams. 


UNE  VIE  51 

After  the  ceremony  they  went  into  the  vestry,  which 
was  nearly  empty,  for  there  were  no  wedding  guests; 
but  when  they  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  church  a  loud 
noise  made  the  bride  start  and  the  baroness  shriek;  it 
was  a  salvo  fired  by  the  peasants,  who  had  arranged  to 
salute  the  bride,  and  the  shots  could  be  heard  all  the 
way  to  Les  Peuples. 

Breakfast  was  served  for  the  family,  the  cure  from 
Yport,  the  Abbe  Picot,  and  the  witnesses.  Then  every- 
one went  to  walk  in  the  garden  till  dinner  was  ready. 
The  baron  and  the  baroness,  Aunt  Lison,  the  mayor, 
and  the  abbe  walked  up  and  down  the  baroness's  path, 
and  the  priest  from  Yport  strode  along  the  other  ave- 
nue reading  his  breviary. 

From  the  other  side  of  the  chateau  came  the  noisy 
laughter  of  the  peasants  drinking  cider  under  the  apple- 
trees.  The  whole  countiyside  in  its  Sunday  garb  was 
in  the  court,  and  the  girls  and  young  men  were  playing 
games  and  chasing  each  other. 

Jeanne  and  Julien  went  across  the  wood,  and  at  the 
top  of  the  slope  stood  silently  looking  at  the  sea.  It 
was  rather  chilly,  although  it  was  the  middle  of  Au- 
gust; there  was  a  north  wind,  and  the  sun  was  shining 
in  the  midst  of  a  cloudless  sky,  so  the  young  couple 
crossed  the  plain  to  find  shelter  in  the  wooded  valley 
leading  to  Yport.  In  the  coppice  no  wind  could  be  felt, 
and  they  left  the  straight  road  and  turned  into  a  nar- 
row path  running  under  the  trees. 

They  could  hardly  walk  abreast,  and  he  gently  put 
his  arm  round  her  waist;  she  did  not  say  anything,  but 
her  heart  throbbed,  and  her  breath  came  quickly;  the 
branches  almost  touched  their  heads,  and  they  often  had 


52  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

to  bend  low  to  pass  under  them.  She  broke  off  a  leaf; 
underneath  it  lay  two  lady-birds  looking  like  delicate, 
red  shells. 

"  Look,  it's  a  husband  and  wife,"  she  said,  inno- 
cently, feeling  a  little  more  at  ease. 

Julien's  mouth  brushed  her  ear. 

"  To-night  you  will  be  my  little  wife,"  he  said. 

Although  she  had  learnt  a  great  deal  since  she  had 
been  living  among  the  fields,  as  yet  only  the  poetical  side 
of  love  had  presented  itself  to  her  mind,  and  she  did 
not  understand  him.     Was  she  not  already  his  wife? 

Then  he  began  to  drop  little  kisses  on  her  forehead, 
and  on  her  neck  just  where  some  soft,  stray  hairs  curled; 
instinctively  she  drew  her  head  away  from  him,  startled 
and  yet  enraptured  by  these  kisses  to  which  she  was  not 
accustomed.  Looking  up  they  found  they  had  reached 
the  end  of  the  wood.  She  stopped,  a  little  confused  at 
finding  herself  so  far  from  home;  what  would  everyone 
think? 

"  Let  us  go  back,"  she  said. 

He  withdrew  his  arm  from  her  waist,  and  as  they 
turned  round  they  came  face  to  face,  so  close  together 
that  she  felt  his  breath  on  her  cheek.  They  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes,  each  seeking  to  read  the  other's  soul, 
and  trying  to  learn  its  secrets  by  a  determined,  pene- 
trating gaze.  What  would  each  be  like?  What 
would  be  the  life  they  were  commencing  together? 
What  joys,  what  disillusions  did  married  life  reserve 
for  them?  Suddenly  Julien  placed  his  hands  on  his 
wife's  shoulders,  and  pressed  on  her  lips  such  a  kiss 
as  she  had  never  before  received,  a  kiss  which  thrilled 
her  whole  being,  a  kiss  which  gave  her  such  a  strange 


UNE  VIE  53 

shock  that  she  almost  fell  to  the  ground.  She  wildly 
pushed  him  from  her. 

"  Let  us  go  back.  Let  us  go  back,"  she  stammered 
out. 

He  did  not  make  any  answer,  but  took  both  her  hands 
and  held  them  in  his  own,  and  they  walked  back  to  the 
house  in  silence. 

At  dusk  a  simple  dinner  was  served,  but  there  was  a 
restraint  upon  the  conversation.  The  two  priests,  the 
mayor,  and  the  four  farmers,  who  had  been  invited  as 
witnesses,  alone  indulged  in  a  little  coarse  gayety  which 
generally  accompanies  a  wedding,  and  when  the  laugh- 
ter died  away  the  mayor  would  try  to  revive  It  with  a 
jest.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock  when  the  coffee  was 
served.  Out  of  doors,  under  the  apple-trees,  the  open- 
air  ball  had  just  commenced;  the  tapers  which  had  been 
hung  on  the  branches  made  the  leaves  look  the  color  of 
verdigris,  and  through  the  open  windows  of  the  dining- 
room  all  the  revelry  could  be  seen.  The  rustics  skipped 
round,  howling  a  dance-tune,  accompanied  by  two  vio- 
lins and  a  clarionet,  the  musicians  being  perched  upon  a 
kitchen  table.  The  noisy  voices  of  the  peasants  some- 
times entirely  drowned  the  sound  of  the  instruments, 
and  the  thin  music  sounded  as  if  it  was  dropping  from 
the  sky  in  little  bits,  a  few  notes  being  scattered  every 
now  and  then. 

Two  big  barrels,  surrounded  by  flaming  torches,  pro- 
vided drink  for  the  crowd,  and  two  servants  did  nothing 
but  rinse  glasses  and  bowls  in  a  tub,  and  then  hold  them, 
dripping  wet,  under  the  taps  whence  flowed  a  crimson 
stream  of  wine,  or  a  golden  stream  of  cider.  The 
thirsty  dancers  crowded  round,  stretched  out  their  hands 


54  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

to  get  hold  of  any  drinking  vessel,  and  poured  the  liquid 
down  their  dust-filled  throats.  Bread,  butter,  cheese, 
and  sausages  were  laid  on  a  table,  and  everyone  swal- 
lowed a  mouthful  from  time  to  time.  As  they  watched 
this  healthy,  noisy  fete,  the  melancholy  guests  in  the 
dining-room  felt  that  they  too  would  have  liked  to  join 
the  dance,  to  drink  from  the  great  casks,  and  eat  a  slice 
of  bread-and-butter  and  a  raw  onion. 

"  By  Jove!  they  are  enjoying  themselves!  "  said  the 
mayor,  beating  time  to  the  music  with  his  knife.  "  It 
makes  one  think  of  the  wedding  feast  at  Ganache." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  suppressed  laughter. 

"  You  mean  at  Cana,"  replied  the  Abbe  Picot,  the 
natural  enemy  of  every  civil  authority. 

But  the  mayor  held  his  ground. 

"  No,  M.  le  cure,  I  know  quite  well  what  I  am  say- 
ing; when  I  say  Ganache,  I  mean  Ganache." 

After  dinner  they  went  among  the  peasants  for  a 
little  while,  and  then  the  guests  took  their  leave.  The 
baron  and  his  wife  had  a  little  quarrel  in  a  low  voice. 
Madame  Adelaide,  more  out  of  breath  than  ever, 
seemed  to  be  refusing  something  her  husband  was  ask- 
ing her  to  do;  and  at  last  she  said  almost  out  loud: 
"  No,  my  dear,  I  cannot.  I  shouldn't  know  how  to  be- 
gin." The  baron  abruptly  left  her,  and  went  up  to 
Jeanne. 

"  Will  you  come  for  a  walk  with  me,  my  child?  "  he 
said. 

"  If  you  like,  papa,"  she  answered,  feeling  a  little 
uneasy. 

As  soon  as  they  were  outside  the  door  they  felt  the 
wind  in  their  faces  —  a  cold,  dry  wind  which  drove  the 
clouds  across  the  sky,  and  made  the  summer  night  feel 


UNE  VIE  55 

like  autumn.  The  baron  pressed  his  daughter's  arm 
closely  to  him,  and  affectionately  pressed  her  hand. 
For  some  minutes  they  walked  on  in  silence;  he  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  begin,  but,  at  last,  he  said: 

"  My  pet,  I  have  to  perform  a  very  difficult  duty 
which  really  belongs  to  your  mother;  as  she  refuses  to 
do  what  she  ought,  I  am  obliged  to  take  her  place.  I 
do  not  know  how  much  you  already  know  of  the  laws 
of  existence;  there  are  some  things  which  are  carefully 
hidden  from  children,  from  girls  especially,  for  girls 
ought  to  remain  pure-minded  and  perfectly  innocent  un- 
til the  hour  their  parents  place  them  in  the  arms  of  the 
man  who,  henceforth,  has  the  care  of  their  happiness; 
it  is  his  duty  to  raise  the  veil  drawn  over  the  sweet 
secret  of  life.  But,  if  no  suspicion  of  the  truth  has 
crossed  their  minds,  girls  are  often  shocked  by  the  some- 
what brutal  reality  which  their  dreams  have  not  re- 
vealed to  them.  Wounded  in  mind,  and  even  in  body, 
they  refuse  to  their  husband  what  is  accorded  to  him  as 
an  absolute  right  by  both  human  and  natural  laws.  I 
cannot  tell  you  any  more,  my  darling;  but  remember 
this,  only  this,  that  you  belong  entirely  to  your  hus- 
band." 

What  did  she  know  in  reality?  What  did  she  guess? 
She  began  to  tremble,  and  she  felt  low-spirited,  and 
overcome  by  a  presentiment  of  something  terrible. 
When  she  and  her  father  went  In  again  they  stopped  In 
surprise  at  the  drawing-room  door.  Madame  Ade- 
laide was  sobbing  on  Julien's  shoulder.  Her  noisy 
tears  seemed  to  be  forced  from  her,  and  issued  at  the 
same  time  from  her  nose,  mouth  and  eyes,  and  the 
amazed  vicomte  was  awkwardly  supporting  the  huge 
woman,  who  had  thrown  herself  in  his  arms  to  ask  him 


56  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

to  be  gentle  with  her  darling,  her  pet,  her  dear  child. 
The  baron  hurried  forward. 

"  Oh,  pray  do  not  make  a  scene,  do  not  let  us  have 
any  tears,"  he  said,  taking  hold  of  his  wife,  and  seating 
her  in  an  armchair  while  she  wiped  her  face.  Then 
turning  towards  Jeanne : 

"  Now  then,  my  dear,  kiss  your  mother  and  go  to 
bed,"  he  said. 

Ready  to  cry  herself,  Jeanne  quickly  kissed  her  par- 
ents and  ran  away.  Aunt  Lison  had  already  gone  to 
her  room,  so  the  baron  and  his  wife  were  left  alone 
with  Julien.  They  all  three  felt  very  awkward,  and 
could  think  of  nothing  to  say;  the  two  men,  in  their 
evening-dress,  remained  standing,  looking  into  space, 
and  Madame  Adelaide  leant  back  in  her  armchair,  her 
breast  still  heaved  by  an  occasional  sob.  At  last  the 
silence  became  unbearable,  and  the  baron  began  to  talk 
about  the  journey  the  young  couple  were  going  to  take 
in  a  few  days. 

Jeanne,  in  her  room,  was  being  undressed  by  Rosalie, 
whose  tears  fell  like  rain ;  her  trembling  hands  could  not 
find  the  strings  and  pins,  and  she  certainly  seemed  a 
great  deal  more  affected  than  her  mistress.  But  Jeanne 
did  not  notice  her  maid's  tears;  she  felt  as  though  she 
had  entered  another  world,  and  was  separated  from  all 
she  had  known  and  loved.  Everything  in  her  life 
seemed  turned  upside  down;  the  strange  idea  came  to 
her:  "  Did  she  really  love  her  husband?  "  He  sud- 
denly seemed  some  stranger  she  hardly  knew.  Three 
months  before  she  had  not  even  been  aware  of  his  exist- 
ence, and  now  she  was  his  wife.  How  had  it  hap- 
pened? Did  people  always  plunge  into  marriage  as 
they   might   into   some   uncovered   hole   lying   in    their 


UxXE  VIE  57 

path?  \Yhen  she  was  in  her  night-dress  she  slipped 
into  bed,  and  the  cold  sheets  made  her  shiver,  and  in- 
creased the  sensation  of  cold,  and  sadness  and  loneliness 
which  had  weighed  on  her  mind  for  two  hours.  Rosa- 
lie went  away  still  sobbing,  and  Jeanne  lay  still,  anx- 
iously awaiting  the  revelation  she  had  partly  guessed, 
and  that  her  father  had  hinted  at  in  confused  words  — 
awaiting  the  unveiling  of  love's  great  secret. 

There  came  three  soft  knocks  at  the  door,  though  she 
had  heard  no  one  come  upstairs.  She  started  violently, 
and  made  no  answer;  there  was  another  knock,  and  then 
the  door-handle  was  turned.  She  hid  her  head  under 
the  clothes  as  if  a  thief  had  got  Into  her  room,  and  then 
came  a  noise  of  boots  on  the  boards,  and  all  at  once 
some  one  touched  the  bed.  She  started  again,  and  gave 
a  little  cry;  then,  uncovering  her  head,  she  saw  Julien 
standing  beside  the  bed,  looking  at  her  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  how  you  frightened  me !  "  she  said. 

"  Did  you  not  expect  me,  then?  "  he  asked. 

She  made  no  answer,  feeling  horribly  ashamed  of 
being  seen  in  bed  by  this  man,  who  looked  so  grave  and 
correct  in  his  evening-dress.  They  did  not  know  what 
to  say  or  do  next;  they  hardly  dared  to  look  at  one  an- 
other, in  this  decisive  hour,  on  which  the  intimate  hap- 
piness of  their  life  depended.  Perhaps  he  vaguely  felt 
what  perfect  self-possession,  what  affectionate  strata- 
gems are  needed  not  to  hurt  the  modesty,  the  extreme 
delicacy  of  a  maiden's  heart.  He  gently  took  her  hand 
and  kissed  it;  then,  kneeling  by  the  bed  as  he  would  be- 
fore an  altar,  he  murtnured,  in  a  voice  soft  as  a  sigh : 

"Will  you  love  me?" 

She  felt  a  little  reassured,  and  raised  her  head,  which 
was  covered  with  a  cloud  of  lace. 


58  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

"  I  love  you  already,  dear,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

He  took  his  wife's  little  slender  fingers  in  his  mouth, 
and,  his  voice  changed  by  this  living  gag,  he  asked : 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  proof  of  your  love?  " 

The  question  frightened  her  again,  and,  only  remem- 
bering her  father's  words,  and  not  quite  understanding 
what  she  said : 

"  I  am  yours,  dear,"  she  answered. 

He  covered  her  hand  with  humid  kisses,  and,  slowly 
rising,  he  bent  towards  her  face,  which  she  again  began 
to  hide.  Suddenly  he  threw  one  arm  across  the  bed, 
winding  it  around  his  wife  over  the  clothes,  and  slipped 
his  other  arm  under  the  bolster,  which  he  raised  with 
her  head  upon  it;  then  he  asked,  in  a  low  whisper : 

"  Then  you  will  make  room  for  me  beside  you?  " 

She  had  an  instinctive  fear,  and  stammered  out: 
*'  Oh,  not  yet,  I  entreat  you." 

He  seemed  disappointed  and  a  little  hurt;  then  he 
went  on  in  a  voice  that  was  still  pleading,  but  a  little 
more  abrupt : 

"  Why  not  now,  since  Ave  have  got  to  come  to  it 
sooner  or  later?  " 

She  did  not  like  him  for  saying  that,  but,  perfectly 
resigned  and  submissive,  she  said,  for  the  second  time : 

"  I  am  yours,  dear." 

Then  he  went  quickly  into  his  dressing-room,  and 
she  could  distinctly  hear  the  rustling  of  his  clothes  as  he 
took  them  off,  the  jingling  of  the  money  in  his  pockets, 
the  noise  his  boots  made  as  he  let  them  drop  on  the 
floor.  All  at  once  he  ran  across  the  room  in  his  draw- 
ers and  socks  to  put  his  watch  on  the  mantelpiece;  then 
he  returned  to  the  other  room,  where  he  moved  about  a 


UNE  VIE  59 

little  while  longer.     Jeanne  turned  quickly  over  to  the 
other  side  and  shut  her  eyes  when  she  heard  him  com- 
ing.     She  nearly  started  out  of  bed  when  she   felt  a 
cold,  hairy  leg  slide  against  hers,  and,  distractedly  hid- 
ing her  face  in  her  hands,  she  moved  right  to  the  edge 
of  the  bed,  almost  crying  with  fear  and  horror.     He 
took  her  in  his  arms,  although  her  back  was  turned  to 
him,  and  eagerly  kissed  her  neck,  the  lace  of  her  night- 
cap,   and   the    embroidered   collar    of   her   night-dress. 
Filled  with  a  horrible  dread,  she  did  not  move,  and  then 
she  felt  his  strong  hands  caressing  her.      She  gasped  for 
breath  at  this  brutal  touch,  and  felt  an  intense  longing 
to  escape  and  hide  herself  somewhere  out  of  this  man's 
reach.     Soon  he  lay  still,  and  she  could  feel  the  warmth 
of  his  body   against  her  back.      She   did   not   feel   so 
frightened  then,   and   all   at  once  the   thought  flashed 
across  her  mind  that  she  had  only  to  turn  round  and  her 
lips  would  touch  his. 

At  last  he  seemed  to  get  impatient,  and,  in  a  sorrow- 
ful voice,  he  said: 

"  Then  you  will  not  be  my  little  wife?  " 
"Am  I  not  your  wife  already?"  she  said,  through 
her  hands. 

"  Come  now,  my  dear,  don't  try  to  make  a  fool  of 
me,"  he  answered,  with  a  touch  of  bad  temper  in  his 
voice. 

She  felt  very  sorry  when  she  heard  him  speak  like 
that,  and  with  a  sudden  movement  she  turned  towards 
him  to  ask  his  pardon.  He  passionately  seized  her  in 
his  arms  and  imprinted  burning  kisses  all  over  her  face 
and  neck.  She  had  taken  her  hands  from  her  face  and 
lay  still,  making  no  response  to  his  efforts,  her  thoughts 


6o  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

so  confused  that  she  could  understand  nothing,  until 
suddenly  she  felt  a  sharp  pain,  and  then  she  began  to 
moan  and  writhe  in  his  arms. 

What  happened  next?  She  did  not  know,  for  her 
head  was  in  a  whirl.  She  was  conscious  of  nothing 
more  until  she  felt  him  raining  grateful  kisses  on  her 
lips.  Then  he  spoke  to  her  and  she  had  to  answer ; 
then  he  made  other  attempts,  which  she  repelled  with 
horror,  and  as  she  struggled  she  felt  against  her  chest 
the  thick  hair  she  had  already  felt  against  her  leg,  and 
she  drew  back  in  dismay.  Tired  at  last  of  entreating 
her  without  effect,  he  lay  still  on  his  back;  then  she 
could  think.  She  had  expected  something  so  different, 
and  this  destruction  of  her  hopes,  this  shattering  of  her 
expectations  of  delight,  filled  her  with  despair,  and  she 
could  only  say  to  herself:  "That,  then,  is  what  he 
calls  being  his  wife;  that  is  it,  that  is  it." 

For  a  long  time  she  lay  thus,  feeling  very  miserable, 
her  eyes  wandering  over  the  tapestry  on  the  walls,  with 
its  tale  of  love.  As  Julien  did  not  speak  or  move,  she 
slowly  turned  her  head  towards  him,  and  then  she  saw 
that  he  was  asleep,  with  his  mouth  half  opened  and  his 
face  quite  calm.  Asleep !  she  could  hardly  believe  it, 
and  it  made  her  feel  more  indignant,  more  outraged 
than  his  brutal  passion  had  done.  How  could  he  sleep 
on  such  a  night?  There  was  no  novelty  for  him,  then, 
in  what  had  passed  between  them?  She  would  rather 
he  had  struck  her,  or  bruised  her  with  his  odious  ca- 
resses till  she  had  lost  consciousness,  than  that  he  should 
have  slept.  She  leant  on  her  elbow,  and  bent  towards 
him  to  listen  to  the  breath  which  sometimes  sounded 
like  a  snore  as  it  passed  through  his  lips. 

Daylight  came,  dim  at  first,  then  brighter,  then  pink, 


UNE  VIE  6 1 

then  radiant.  Jiillen  opened  his  eyes,  yawned,  stretched 
his  arms,  looked  at  his  wife,  smiled,  and  asked: 

"  Have  you  slept  well,  dear?  " 

She  noticed  with  great  surprise  that  he  said  "  thou  " 
to  her  now,  and  she  replied : 

"  Oh,  yes;  have  you?  " 

"I?  Oh,  very  well  indeed,"  he  answered,  turning 
and  kissing  her.  Then  he  began  to  talk,  telling  her 
his  plans,  and  using  the  word  "  economy  "  so  often  that 
Jeanne  wondered.  She  listened  to  him  without  very 
well  understanding  what  he  said,  and,  as  she  looked  at 
him,  a  thousand  thoughts  passed  rapidly  through  her 
mind. 

Eight  o'clock  struck. 

"  We  must  get  up,"  he  said;  "  we  shall  look  stupid 
if  we  stay  in  bed  late  to-day;"  and  he  got  up  first. 

When  he  had  finished  dressing,  he  helped  his  wife  in 
all  the  little  details  of  her  toilet,  and  would  not  hear  of 
her  calling  Rosalie.  As  he  was  going  out  of  the  room, 
he  stopped  to  say: 

"  You  know,  when  we  are  by  ourselves,  we  can  call 
each  other  '  thee  '  and  '  thou,'  but  we  had  better  wait  a 
little  while  before  we  talk  like  that  before  your  parents. 
It  will  sound  quite  natural  when  we  come  back  after  our 
honeymoon."     And  then  he  went  downstairs. 

Jeanne  did  not  go  down  till  lunch-time;  and  the  day 
passed  exactly  the  same  as  usual,  without  anything  ex- 
traordinary happening.  There  was  only  an  extra  man 
in  the  house. 

V 

Four  days  after  the  wedding,  the  berlin  in  which 
they  were  to  travel  to  Marseilles  arrived.     After  the 


62  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

anguish  of  that  first  night,  Jeanne  soon  became  accus- 
tomed to  JuHen's  kisses  and  affectionate  caresses,  though 
their  more  intimate  relations  still  revolted  her.  When 
they  went  away  she  had  quite  regained  her  gayety  of 
heart,  and  the  baroness  was  the  only  one  who  showed 
any  emotion  at  the  parting.  Just  as  the  carriage  was 
going  off,  she  put  a  heavy  purse  in  her  daughter's  hand. 

"  That  is  for  any  little  thing  you  may  want  to  buy," 
she  said. 

Jeanne  dropped  It  into  her  pocket  and  the  carriage 
started. 

"  How  much  did  your  mother  give  you  In  that 
purse?  "  asked  Jullen  in  the  evening. 

Jeanne  had  forgotten  all  about  it,  so  she  turned  it 
out  on  her  knees,  and  found  there  were  two  thousand 
francs  In  gold. 

"  What  a  lot  of  things  I  shall  be  able  to  buy!  "  she 
cried,  clapping  her  hands. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  they  arrived  at  Marseilles, 
where  the  heat  was  terrible,  and  the  next  day  they  em- 
barked on  the  Roi  Louis,  the  little  packet-boat  which 
calls  at  Ajaccio  on  Its  way  to  Naples,  and  started  for 
Corsica.  It  seemed  to  Jeanne  as  if  she  were  In  a  trance 
which  yet  left  her  the  full  possession  of  all  her  senses, 
and  she  could  hardly  believe  she  was  really  going  to 
Corsica,  the  birthplace  of  Napoleon,  with  Its  wild  un- 
dergrowth. Its  bandits,  and  its  mountains.  She  and  her 
husband  stood  side  by  side  on  the  deck  of  the  boat 
watching  the  cliffs  of  Provence  fly  past.  Overhead  was 
a  bright  blue  sky,  and  the  waves  seemed  to  be  getting 
thicker  and  firmer  under  the  burning  heat  of  the  sun. 

"  Do  you  remember  when  we  went  to  Etretat  in  old 


UNE  VIE  63 

Lastique's  boat?"   asked   Jeanne;  and,   instead  of   an- 
swering her,  Julien  dropped  a  kiss  right  on  her  ear. 

The  steamer's  paddles  churned  up  the  sea,  and  be- 
hind the  boat,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  lay  a  long 
foaming  track  where  the  troubled  waves  frothed  like 
champagne.     All  at  once  an  immense  dolphin  leapt  out 
of  the  water  a  few  fathoms  ahead,  and  then  dived  in 
again  head  foremost.      It  startled  Jeanne,  and  she  threw 
herself  in  Julien's  arms  with  a  little  cry  of  fear;  then 
she  laughed  at  her  terror,  and  watched  for  the  reap- 
pearance of  the  enormous  fish.      In  a  few  seconds  up 
it    came    again,    like    a    huge    mechanical    toy;    then    it 
dived   again,    and   again   disappeared;   then   came   two 
more,  then  three,  then  six,  which  gamboled  round  the 
boat,   and  seemed  to  be  escorting  their  large  wooden 
brother  with  the  iron  fins.      Sometimes  they  were  on  the 
left  of  the  boat,  sometimes  on  the  right,  and,  one  follow- 
ing the  other  in  a  kind  of  game,  they  would  leap  into 
the  air,  describe  a  curve,  and  replunge  into  the  sea  one 
after  the  other.     Jeanne  clapped  her  hands,  delighted 
at  each  reappearance  of  the  big,  pliant  fish,  and  felt  a 
childish  enjoyment  in  watching  them.      Suddenly  they 
disappeared,  rose  to  the  surface  a  long  way  out  to  sea, 
then  disappeared  for  good,  and  Jeanne  felt  quite  sorry 
when  they  went  away. 

The  calm,  mild,  radiant  evening  drew  on;  there  was 
not  a  breath  of  air  to  cause  the  smallest  ripple  on  the 
sea ;  the  sun  was  slowly  sinking  towards  that  part  of  the 
horizon  beyond  which  lay  the  land  of  burning  heat, 
Africa,  whose  glow  could  almost  be  felf  across  the 
ocean ;  then,  when  the  sun  had  quite  disappeared,  a  cool 
breath  of  wind,  so  faint  that  it  could  not  be  called  a 


64  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

breeze,  came  over  the  sea.  There  were  all  the  horri- 
ble smells  of  a  packet-boat  in  their  cabin,  so  Jeanne  and 
Julien  wrapped  themselves  in  their  cloaks  and  lay  down 
side  by  side  on  deck.  Julien  went  to  sleep  directly,  but 
Jeanne  lay  looking  up  at  the  host  of  stars  which  spar- 
kled with  so  bright  and  clear  a  light  in  this  soft  Southern 
sky;  then  the  monotonous  noise  of  the  engines  made  her 
drowsy,  and  at  last  she  fell  asleep.  In  the  morning  she 
was  awakened  by  the  voices  of  the  sailors  cleaning  the 
boat,  and  she  aroused  her  husband  and  got  up.  The 
sea  was  still  all  around  them,  but  straight  ahead  some- 
thing gray  could  be  faintly  seen  in  the  dawn;  it  looked 
like  a  bank  of  strange-shaped  clouds,  pointed  and 
jagged,  lying  on  the  waves.  This  vague  outline  gradu- 
ally became  more  distinct,  until,  standing  out  against 
the  brightening  sky,  a  long  line  of  mountain-peaks  could 
be  seen.  It  was  Corsica,  hidden  behind  a  light  veil  of 
mist. 

The  sun  rose,  throwing  black  shadows  around  and 
below  every  prominence,  and  each  peak  had  a  crown 
of  light,  while  all  the  rest  of  the  island  remained  en- 
veloped in  mist. 

The  captain,  a  little  elderly  man,  bronzed,  withered, 
and  toughened  by  the  rough  salt  winds,  came  up  on 
deck. 

"Can  you  smell  my  lady  over  there?"  he  asked 
Jeanne,  in  a  voice  that  thirty  years  of  command,  and 
shouting  above  the  noise  of  the  wind,  had  made  hoarse. 

She  had  indeed  noticed  a  strong,  peculiar  odor  of 
herbs  and  aromatic  plants. 

"  It's  -Corsica  that  smells  like  that,  madame,"  went 
on  the  captain.  "  She  has  a  perfumed  breath,  just  like 
a  pretty  woman.     I  am  a  Corsican,  and  I  should  know 


UNE  VIE  6s 

that  smell  five  miles  off,  if  I'd  been  away  twenty  years. 
Over  there,  at  St.  Helena,  I  hear  he  is  always  speaking 
of  the  perfume  of  his  country;  he  belongs  to  my  fam- 

And  the  captain  took  off  his  hat  and  saluted  Corsica, 
and  then,  looking  across  the  ocean,  he  saluted  the  great 
emperor  who  was  a  prisoner  on  that  far-away  isle,  and 
Jeanne's  heart  was  touched  by  this  simple  action.  Then 
the  sailor  pointed  towards  the  horizon. 

"  There  are  the  Sanguinaires,"  he  said. 

Julien  had  his  arm  round  his  wife's  waist,  and  they 
both  straineci  their  eyes  to  see  what  the  captain  was 
pointing  out.  As  last  they  saw  some  pointed  rocks  that 
the  boat  rounded  before  entering  a  large,  calm  bay,  sur- 
rounded by  high  mountains,  whose  steep  sides  looked  as 
though  they  were  covered  with  moss. 

"  That  is  the  undergrowth,"  said  the  captain,  point- 
ing out  this  verdure. 

The  circle  of  mountains  seemed  to  close  in  behind 
the  boat  as  she  slowly  steamed  across  the  azure  water 
which  was  so  transparent  that  in  places  the  bottom  could 
be  seen.  Ajaccio  came  in  sight;  it  was  a  white  town 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  with  a  few  small  Italian 
boats  lying  at.  anchor  in  the  harbor,  and  four  or  five 
row-boats  came  beside  the  Roi  Louis  to  take  off  the  pas- 
sengers. Julien,  who  was  looking  after  the  luggage, 
asked  his  wife  in  a  low  tone: 

"  A  franc  is  enough,  isn't  it,  to  give  the  steward?  " 

The  whole  week  he  had  been  constantly  asking  her 
this  question  which  she  hated. 

"  When  you  don't  know  what  is  enough,   give  too 

much,"  she  answered,  a  little  impatiently. 

He   haggled   with   every   one,   landlords   and   hotel- 
V— 5 


66  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

waiters,  cabmen  and  shopmen,  and  when  he  had  ob- 
tained the  reduction  he  wanted,  he  would  rub  his  hands, 
and  say  to  Jeanne:  "  I  don't  like  to  be  robbed."  She 
trembled  when  the  bills  were  brought,  for  she  knew  be- 
forehand the  remarks  he  would  make  on  each  item,  and 
felt  ashamed  of  his  bargaining;  and  when  she  saw  the 
scornful  look  of  the  servants  as  her  husband  left  his 
small  fee  in  their  hands,  she  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her 
hair.  Of  course  he  had  a  discussion  with  the  boatmen 
who  took  them  ashore. 

The  first  tree  she  saw  on  landing  was  a  palm,  which 
delighted  her.  They  went  to  a  big  empty  hotel  stand- 
ing at  the  corner  of  a  vast  square,  and  ordered  lunch. 
When  they  had  finished  dessert,  Jeanne  got  up  to  go 
and  wander  about  the  town,  but  Julien,  faking  her  in 
his  arms,  whispered  tenderly  in  her  ear : 

"  Shall  we  go  upstairs  for  a  little  while,  my  pet?  " 

"  Go  upstairs?  "  she  said,  with  surprise;  "  but  I  am 
not  at  all  tired." 

He  pressed  her  to  him:  "Don't  you  understand? 
For  two  days  — " 

She  blushed  crimson. 

"  Oh,  what  would  everyone  say?  what  would  they 
think?  You  could  not  ask  for  a  bedroom  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  day.  Oh,  Julien,  don't  say  anything  about 
it  now,  please  don't." 

"  Do  you  think  I  care  what  the  hotel-people  say  or 
think?"  he  interrupted.  "You'll  see  what  difference 
they  make  to  me."      And  he  rang  the  bell. 

She  did  not  say  anything  more,  but  sat  with  down- 
cast eyes,  disgusted  at  her  husband's  desires,  to  which 
she  always  submitted  with  a  feeling  of  shame  and  degra- 
dation; her  senses  were  not  yet  aroused,  and  her  hus- 


UNE  VIE  67 

band  treated  her  as  if  she  shared  all  his  ardors.  When 
the  waiter  answered  the  bell,  Julien  asked  him  to  show 
them  to  their  room ;  the  waiter,  a  man  of  true  Corsican 
type,  bearded  to  the  eyes,  did  not  understand,  and  kept 
saying  that  the  room  Avould  be  quite  ready  by  the  even- 
ing.     Julien  got  out  of  patience. 

"  Get  it  ready  at  once,"  he  said.  "  The  journey  has 
tired  us  and  we  want  to  rest." 

A  slight  smile  crept  over  the  waiter's  face,  and 
Jeanne  would  have  liked  to  run  away;  when  they  came 
downstairs  again,  an  hour  later,  she  hardly  dared  pass 
the  servants,  feeling  sure  that  they  would  whisper  and 
laugh  behind  her  back.  She  felt  vexed  with  Julien  for 
not  understanding  her  feelings,  and  wondering  at  his 
want  of  delicacv;  it  raised  a  sort  of  barrier  between 
them,  and,  for  the  first  time,  she  understood  that  two 
people  can  never  be  in  perfect  sympathy;  they  may  pass 
through  life  side  by  side,  seemingly  in  perfect  union, 
but  neither  quite  understands  the  other,  and  every  soul 
must  of  necessity  be  for  ever  lonely. 

They  stayed  three  days  in  the  little  town  which  was 
like  a  furnace,  for  every  breath  of  wind  was  shut  out 
by  the  mountains.  Then  they  made  out  a  plan  of  the 
places  they  should  visit,  and  decided  to  hire  some 
horses.  They  started  one  morning  at  daybreak  on  the 
two  wiry  little  Corsican  horses  they  had  obtained,  and 
accompanied  by  a  guide  mounted  on  a  mule  which  also 
carried  some  provisions,  for  inns  are  unknown  in  this 
wild  country.  At  first  the  road  ran  along  the  bay,  but 
soon  it  turned  into  a  shallow  valley  leading  to  the  moun- 
tains. The  uncultivated  country  seemed  perfectly  bare, 
and  the  sides  of  the  hills  were  covered  with  tall  weeds, 
turned  sere  and  yellow  by  the  burning  heat;  they  often 


68  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

crossed  ravines  where  only  a  narrow  stream  still  ran  with 
a  gurgling  sound,  and  occasionally  they  met  a  moun- 
taineer, sometimes  on  foot,  sometimes  riding  his  little 
horse,  or  bestriding  a  donkey  no  bigger  than  a  dog; 
these  mountaineers  always  carried  a  loaded  gun  which 
might  be  old  and  rusty,  but  which  became  a  very  for- 
midable weapon  in  their  hands.  The  air  was  filled  with 
the  pungent  smell  of  the  aromatic  plants  with  which  the 
isle  is  covered,  and  the  road  sloped  gradually  upwards, 
winding  round  the  mountains. 

The  peaks  of  blue  and  pink  granite  made  the  island 
look  like  a  fairy  palace,  and,  from  the  heights,  the  for- 
ests of  immense  chestnut  trees  on  the  lower  parts  of  the 
hills  looked  like  green  thickets.  Sometimes  the  guide 
would  point  to  some  steep  height,  and  mention  a  name ; 
Jeanne  and  Julien  would  look,  at  first  seeing  nothing, 
but  at  last  discovering  the  summit  of  the  mountain.  It 
was  a  village,  a  little  granite  hamlet,  hanging  and  cling- 
ing like  a  bird's  nest  to  the  vast  mountain.  Jeanne  got 
tired  of  going  at  a  walking  pace  for  so  long. 

"  Let  us  gallop  a  little,"  she  said,  whipping  up  her 
horse. 

She  could  not  hear  her  husband  behind  her,  and,  turn- 
ing round  to  see  where  he  was,  she  burst  out  laughing. 
Pale  with  fright,  he  was  holding  onto  his  horse's  mane, 
almost  jolted  out  of  the  saddle  by  the  animal's  motion. 
His  awkwardness  and  fear  were  all  the  more  funny, 
because  he  was  such  a  grave,  handsome  man.  Then 
they  trotted  gently  along  the  road  between  two  thick- 
ets formed  of  juniper  trees,  green  oaks,  arbutus  trees, 
heaths,  bay  trees,  myrtles,  and  box  trees,  whose  branches 
were  formed  into  a  network  by  the  climbing  clematis, 
and  between  and  around  which  grew  big  ferns,  honey- 


UNE  VIE  69 

suckles,  rosemary,  lavender,  and  briars,  forming  a  per- 
fectly impassable  thicket,  which  covered  the  hill  like  a 
cloak.  The  travelers  began  to  get  hungry,  and  the 
guide  rejoined  them  and  took  them  to  one  of  those 
springs  so  often  met  with  in  a  mountainous  country, 
with  the  icy  water  flowing  from  a  little  hole  in  the  rock 
where  some  passer-by  has  left  the  big  chestnut  leaf 
which  conveyed  the  water  to  his  mouth.  Jeanne  felt 
so  happy  that  she  could  hardly  help  shouting  aloud;  and 
they  again  remounted  and  began  to  descend,  winding 
round  the  Gulf  of  Sagone. 

As  evening  was  drawing  on  they  went  through  Car- 
gese,  the  Greek  village  founded  so  long  ago  by  fugi- 
tives driven  from  their  country.  Round  a  fountain 
was  a  group  of  tall,  handsome  and  particularly  graceful 
girls,  with  well  formed  hips,  long  hands,  and  slender 
waists;  Julien  cried  "Good-night"  to  them,  and  they 
answered  him  in  the  musical  tongue  of  their  ancestors. 
When  they  got  to  Piana  they  had  to  ask  for  hospitality 
quite  in  the  way  of  the  middle  ages,  and  Jeanne  trem- 
bled with  joy  as  they  waited  for  the  door  to  open  in 
answer  to  Julien's  knock.  Oh,  that  was  a  journey! 
There  they  did  indeed  meet  with  adventures ! 

They  had  happened  to  appeal  to  a  young  couple  who 
received  them  as  the  patriarch  received  the  messenger 
of  God,  and  they  slept  on  a  straw  mattress  in  an  old 
house  whose  woodwork  was  so  full  of  worms  that  it 
seemed  alive.  At  sunrise  they  started  off  again,  and 
soon  they  stopped  opposite  a  regular  forest  of  crimson 
rocks ;  there  were  peaks,  columns,  and  steeples,  all  mar- 
velously  sculptured  by  time  and  the  sea.  l^hin,  round, 
twisted,  crooked,  and  fantastic,  these  wonderful  rocks 
nine  hundred  feet  high,  looked  like  trees,  plants,  ani- 


•  70  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

mals,  monuments,  men,  monks  m  their  cassocks,  horned 
demons  and  huge  bu'ds,  such  as  one  sees  hi  a  nightmare, 
the  whole  forming  a  monstrous  tribe  which  seemed  to 
have  been  petrified  by  some  eccentric  god. 

Jeanne  could  not  speak,  her  heart  was  too  full,  but 
she  took  Julien's  hand  and  pressed  it,  feeling  that  she 
must  love  something  or  some  one  before  all  this  beauty; 
and  then,  leaving  this  confusion  of  forms,  they  came 
upon  another  bay  surrounded  by  a  wall  of  blood-red 
granite,  which  cast  crimson  reflections  Into  the  blue  sea. 
Jeanne  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Jullen !  "  and  that  was  all  she 
could  say;  a  great  lump  came  in  her  throat  and  two 
tears  ran  down  her  cheeks.  Julien  looked  at  her  in 
astonishment. 

"  What  is  it,  my  pet?  "  he  asked. 

She  dried  her  eyes,  smiled,  and  said  in  a  voice  that 
still  trembled  a  little.  "  Oh,  it's  nothing,  I  suppose  I 
am  nervous.  I  am  so  happy  that  the  least  thing  up- 
sets me." 

He  could  not  understand  this  nervousness;  he  de- 
spised the  hysterical  excitement  to  which  women  give 
way  and  the  joy  or  despair  into  which  they  are  cast  by 
a  mere  sensation,  and  he  thought  her  tears  absurd.  He 
glanced  at  the  bad  road. 

"  You  had  better  look  after  your  horse,"  he  said. 

They  went  down  by  a  nearly  impassable  road,  then 
turning  to  the  right,  proceeded  along  the  gloomy  valley 
of  Ota.  The  path  looked  very  dangerous,  and  Julien 
proposed  that  they  should  go  up  on  foot.  Jeanne  was 
only  too  delighted  to  be  alone  with  him  after  the  emo- 
tion she  had  felt,  so  the  guide  went  on  with  the  mule 
and  horses,  and  they  walked  slowly  after  him.  The 
mountain  seemed  cleft  from  top  to  bottom,   and  the 


UNE  VIE  71 

path  ran  between  two  tremendous  w^alls  of  rock  which 
looked  nearly  black.  The  ah*  was  icy  cold,  and  the  lit- 
tle bit  of  sky  that  could  be  seen  looked  quite  strange,  it 
seemed  so  far  away.  A  sudden  noise  made  Jeanne 
look  up.  A  large  bird  flew  out  of  a  hole  in  the  rock; 
it  was  an  eagle,  and  its  open  wings  seemed  to  touch  the 
two  sides  of  the  chasm  as  it  mounted  towards  the  sky. 
Farther  on,  the  mountain  again  divided,  and  the  path 
wound  between  the  two  ravines,  taking  abrupt  turns. 
Jeanne  went  first,  walking  lightly  and  easily,  sending 
the  pebbles  rolling  from  under  her  feet  and  fearlessly 
looking  down  the  precipices.  Julien  followed  her,  a 
little  out  of  breath,  and  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  ground 
so  that  he  should  not  feel  giddy  and  it  seemed  like  com- 
ing out  of  Hades  when  they  suddenly  came  into  the  full 
sunlight. 

They  were  very  thirsty,  and,  seeing  a  damp  track, 
they  followed  it  till  they  came  to  a  tiny  spring  flowing 
into  a  hollow  stick  which  some  goat-herd  had  put  there ; 
all  around  the  spring  the  ground  was  carpeted  with 
moss,  and  Jeanne  knelt  down  to  drink.  Julien  fol- 
lowed her  example,  and  as  she  was  slowly  enjoying  the 
cool  water,  he  put  his  arm  around  her  and  tried  to  take 
her  place  at  the  end  of  the  wooden  pipe.  In  the  strug- 
gle between  their  lips  they  would  in  turns  seize  the  small 
end  of  the  tube  and  hold  it  in  their  mouths  for  a  few 
seconds;  then,  as  they  left  it,  the  stream  flowed  on  again 
and  splashed  their  faces  and  necks,  their  clothes  and 
their  hands.  A  few  drops  shone  in  their  hair  like 
pearls,  and  with  the  water  flowed  their  kisses. 

1  hen  Jeanne  had  an  inspiration  of  love.  She  filled 
her  mouth  with  the  clear  liquid,  and,  her  cheeks  puffed 
out  like  bladders,  she  made  Julien  understand  that  he 


72  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

was  to  quench  his  thirst  at  her  lips.  He  stretched  his 
throat,  his  head  thrown  backwards  and  his  arms  open, 
and  the  deep  draught  he  drank  at  this  living  spring  en- 
flamed  him  with  desire.  Jeanne  leant  on  his  shoulder 
with  unusual  affection,  her  heart  throbbed,  her  bosom 
heaved,  her  eyes,  filled  with  tears,  looked  softer,  and 
she  whispered : 

"  Julien,  I  love  you!  " 

Then,  drawing  him  to  her,  she  threw  herself  down 
and  hid  her  shame-stricken  face  in  her  hands.  He 
threw  himself  down  beside  her,  and  pressed  her  passion- 
ately to  him ;  she  gasped  for  breath  as  she  lay  nervously 
waiting,  and  all  at  once  she  gave  a  loud  cry  as  though 
thunderstruck  by  the  sensation  she  had  invited.  It  was 
a  long  time  before  they  reached  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain, so  fluttered  and  exhausted  v\'as  Jeanne,  and  it  was 
evening  when  they  got  to  Evisa,  and  went  to  the  house 
of  Paoli  Palabretti,  a  relation  of  the  guide's.  Paoli 
was  a  tall  man  with  a  slight  cough,  and  the  melancholy 
look  of  a  consumptive;  he  showed  them  their  room,  a 
miserable-looking  chamber  built  of  stone,  but  which  was 
handsome  for  this  country,  where  no  refinement  is 
known.  He  was  expressing  in  his  Corsican  patois  (a 
mixture  of  French  and  Italian)  his  pleasure  at  receiv- 
ing them,  when  a  clear  voice  interrupted  him,  and  a 
dark  little  woman,  with  big  black  eyes,  a  sun-kissed  skin, 
and  a  slender  waist,  hurried  forward,  kissed  Jeanne, 
shook  Julien  by  the  hand  and  said:  "  Good-day,  ma- 
dame;  good-day,  monsieur;  are  you  quite  well?  "  She 
took  their  hats  and  shawls  and  arranged  everything 
with  one  hand,  for  her  other  arm  was  in  a  sling;  then 
she  turned  them  all  out,  saying  to  her  hus-band :  "  Take 
them  for  a  walk  till  dinner  is  ready." 


UNE  VIE  73 

M.  PalabrettI  obeyed  at  once,  and,  walking  between 
Jeanne  and  her  husband,  he  took  them  round  the  vil- 
lage. His  steps  and  his  words  both  drawled,  and  he 
coughed  frequently,  saying  at  each  fit,  "  The  cold  air 
has  got  on  my  lungs."  He  led  them  under  some  im- 
mense chestnut-trees,  and,  suddenly  stopping,  he  said  in 
his  monotonous  voice : 

"  It  was  here  that  Mathieu  Lori  killed  my   cousin 
Jean   Rinaldi.      I  was  standing  near  Jean,   just  there, 
when  we  saw  Mathieu  about  three  yards  off.      '  Jean,' 
he  cried;  '  don't  go  to  Albertacce;  don't  you  go,  Jean, 
or  I'll  kill  you :'      I  took  Jean's  arm.      '  Don't  go  Jean,' 
I  said,  '  or  he'll  do  it.'     It  was  about  a  girl,  Paulina 
Sinacoupi,  that  they  were  both  after.     Then  Jean  cried 
out,    'I   shall   go,    jVIathieu;   and  you  won't   stop   me, 
either.'      Then  Mathieu  raised  his  gun,  and,  before  I 
could  take  aim,  he  fired.     Jean  leaped  two  feet  from 
the  ground,  monsieur,  and  then  fell  right  on  me,  and 
my    gun    dropped    and   rolled    down    to    that    chestnut 
there.     Jean's  mouth  was  wide  open,  but  he  didn't  say 
a  word;  he  was  dead." 

The   young    couple    stared    in    astonishment    at    this 
calm  witness  of  such  a  crime. 

"  What  became  of  the  murderer?  "  asked  Jeanne. 
Paoli  coughed  for  some  time,  then  he  went  on : 
"  He   gained  the  mountain,   and  my  brother   killed 
him  the  next  year.      My  brother,   Philippi   Palabretti, 
the  bandit,  you  know." 

Jeanne   shuddered.      "Is   your  brother   a   bandit?" 
she  asked. 

The  placid  Corsican's  eye  flashed  proudly. 
"  Yes,  madame,  he  was  a  celebrated  bandit,  he  was; 
he  put  an  end  to  six  gendarmes.      He  died  with  Nico- 


74  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

las  Morall  after  they  had  been  surrounded  for  six  days, 
and  were  almost  starved  to  death." 

Then  they  went  in  to  dinner,  and  the  little  woman 
treated  them  as  if  she  had  known  them  twenty  years. 
Jeanne  was  haunted  by  the  fear  that  she  would  not 
again  experience  the  strange  shock  she  had  felt  in 
Julien's  arms  beside  the  fountain,  and  when  they  were 
alone  in  their  room  she  was  still  afraid  his  kisses  would 
again  leave  her  insensible,  but  she  was  soon  reassured, 
and  that  was  her  first  night  of  love.  The  next  day  she 
could  hardly  bear  to  leave  this  humble  abode,  where 
a  new  happiness  had  come  to  her;  she  drew  her  host's 
little  wife  into  her  bedroom,  and  told  her  she  did  not 
mean  it  as  a  present  in  return  for  their  hospitality,  but 
she  must  absolutely  insist  on  sending  her  a  souvenir 
from  Paris,  and  to  this  souvenir  she  seemed  to  attach 
a  superstitious  importance.  For  a  long  time  the  young 
Corsican  woman  refused  to  accept  anything  at  all,  but 
at  last  she  said: 

"  Well,  send  me  a  little  pistol,  a  very  little  one." 

Jeanne  opened  her  eyes  in  astonishment,  and  the 
woman  added  in  her  ear,  as  though  she  were  confiding 
some  sweet  and  tender  secret  to  her : 

"  It's  to  kill  my  brother-in-law  with." 

And  with  a  smile  on  her  face,  she  quickly  un- 
bandaged  the  arm  she  could  not  use,  and  showed 
Jeanne  the  soft,  white  flesh  which  had  been  pierced 
right  through  with  a  stiletto,  though  the  wound  had 
nearly  healed. 

"  If  I  had  not  been  as  strong  as  he  is,"  she  said,  "  he 
would  have  killed  me.  My  husband  is  not  jealous,  for 
he  understands  me,  and  then  he  is  ill,  you  see,  so  he  is 
not  so  hot-blooded;  besides,   I  am  an  honest  woman, 


UNE  VIE  75 

madame.  But  my  brother-in-law  believes  everything 
that  is  told  him  about  me,  and  he  is  jealous  for  my 
husband.  I  am  sure  he  will  make  another  attempt 
upon  my  life,  but  if  I  have  a  httle  pistol  I  shall  feel 
safe,  and  I  shall  be  sure  of  having  my  revenge." 

Jeanne  promised  to  send  the  weapon,  affectionately 
kissed  her  new  friend  and  said  good-bye.  The  rest  of 
her  journey  was  a  dream,  an  endless  embrace,  an  intox- 
ication of  caresses;  she  no  longer  saw  country  or  people 
or  the  places  where  they  stopped,  she  had  eyes  only  for 
Julien.  When  they  got  to  Bastia  the  guide  had  to  be 
paid;  Julien  felt  in  his  pockets,  and  not  finding  what 
he  wanted,  he  said  to  Jeanne: 

"  Since  you  don't  use  the  two  thousand  francs  your 
mother  gave  you,  I  might  as  well  carry  them ;  they 
will  be  safer  in  my  pocket,  and,  besides,  then  I  shan't 
have  to  change  any  notes." 

They  went  to  Leghorn,  Florence,  and  Genoa,   and, 

one  windy  morning,   they   found   themselv^es   again   at 

Marseilles.      It  was  then  the  fifteenth  of  October,  and 

they  had  been   away   from   Les   Peuples   two   months. 

The  cold  wind,  which  seemed  to  blow  from  Normandy, 

chilled  Jeanne   and  made   her   feel   miserable.      There 

had  lately  been  a  change  in  Julien's  behavior  towards 

her,  he  seemed  tired,   and   indifferent,   and  she  had  a 

vague  presentiment  of  evil.      She  persuaded  him  to  stay 

at  Marseilles  four  days  longer,  for  she  could  not  bear 

to  leave  these  warm,  sunny  lands  where  she  had  been 

so  happy,  but  at  last  they  had  to  go.     They  intended 

to  buy  all  the  things  they  wanted  for  their  housekeeping 

at  Paris,   and  Jeanne  was  looking  forward  to  buying 

all    sorts    of    things    for    Les    Peuples,    thanks    to    her 

mother's  present;  but  the  very  first  thing  she  meant  to 


76  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

purchase  was  the  pistol  she  had  promised  to  the  young 
Corsican  woman  at  Evisa. 

The  day  after  they  reached  Paris,  she  said  to  Juhen : 

"  Will  you  give  me  mamma's  money,  dear?  I  want 
to  buy  some  things," 

He  looked  rather  cross. 

"  EIow  much  do  you  want?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh  —  what  you  like,"  she  answered  in  surprise. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  hundred  francs,"  he  answered; 
"  and  whatever  you  do,  don't  waste  it." 

She  did  not  know  what  to  say,  she  felt  so  amazed 
and  confused,  but  at  last  she  said  in  a  hesitating  way: 

"  But  —  I  gave  you  that  money  to  — " 

He  interrupted  her. 

"  Yes,  exactly.  What  does  it  matter  whether  it's  in 
your  pocket  or  mine  now  that  we  share  everything? 
I  am  not  refusing  you  the  money,  am  I  ?  I  am  going 
to  give  you  a  hundred  francs." 

She  took  the  five  pieces  of  gold  without  another  word; 
she  did  not  dare  ask  for  more,  so  she  bought  nothing 
but  the  pistol. 

A  week  later  they  started  for  Les  Peuples. 

VI 

When  the  post-chaise  drove  up,  the  baron  and  bar- 
oness and  all  the  servants  were  standing  outside  the 
white  railings  to  give  the  travelers  a  hearty  welcome 
home.  The  baroness  cried,  Jeanne  quietly  wiped  away 
two  tears,  and  her  father  walked  backwards  and  for- 
wards nervously.  Then,  while  the  luggage  was  being 
brought  in,  the  whole  journey  was  gone  over  again  be- 
fore the  drawing-room  fire.     The  eager  words  flowed 


UNE  VIE  77 

from  Jeanne's  lips,  and  in  half-an-hour  she  had  related 
everything,  except  a  few  little  details  she  forgot  in  her 
haste.  Then  she  went  to  unpack,  with  Rosalie,  who 
was  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  to  help  her;  when 
she  had  finished  and  everything  had  been  put  away  in 
its  proper  place  Rosalie  left  her  mistress,  and  Jeanne 
sat  down,  feeling  a  little  tired.  She  wondered  what 
she  could  do  next,  and  she  tried  to  think  of  some  oc- 
cupation for  her  mind,  some  task  for  her  fingers.  She 
did  not  want  to  go  down  to  the  drawing-room  again 
to  sit  by  her  mother  who  was  dozing,  and  she  thought 
of  going  for  a  walk,  but  it  was  so  miserable  out  of 
doors  that  only  to  glance  out  of  the  window  made  her 
feel  melancholy. 

Then  the  thought  flashed  across  her  mind  that  now 
there  never  would  be  anything  for  her  to  do.  At  the 
convent  the  future  had  always  given  her  something  to 
think  about,  and  her  dreams  had  filled  the  hours,  so  that 
their  flight  had  passed  unnoticed;  but  she  had  hardly  left 
the  convent  when  her  love-dreams  had  been  realized.  In 
a  few  weeks  she  had  met,  loved,  and  married  a  man  who 
had  borne  her  away  in  his  arms  without  giving  her 
time  to  think  of  anything.  But  now  the  sweet  reality 
of  the  first  few  weeks  of  married  life  was  going  to 
become  a  daily  monotony,  barring  the  way  to  all  the 
hopes  and  delicious  fears  of  an  unknown  luturc. 
There  was  nothing  more  to  which  she  could  look  for- 
ward, nothing  more  for  her  to  do,  to-day,  to-morrow, 
or  ever.  She  felt  all  that  with  a  vague  sensation  of 
disillusion  and  melancholy.  She  rose  and  went  to  lean 
her  forehead  against  the  cold  window-pane,  and,  after 
looking  for  some  time  at  the  dull  sky  and  heavy  clouds, 
she  made  up  her  mind  to  go  out. 


78  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

Could  it  really  be  the  same  country,  the  same  grass, 
the  same  trees  as  she  had  seen  with  such  joy  in  May? 
What  had  become  of  the  sun-bathed  leaves,  and  the 
flaming  dandelions,  the  blood-red  poppies,  the  pure 
marguerites  that  had  reared  their  heads  amidst  the 
green  grass  above  which  had  fluttered  innumerable  yel- 
low butterflies?  They  were  all  gone,  and  the  very 
air  seemed  changed,  for  now  it  was  no  longer  full  of 
life,  and  fertilizing  germs  and  intoxicating  perfumes. 
The  avenues  were  soaked  by  the  autumn  rains  and 
covered  with  a  thick  carpet  of  dead  leaves,  and  the 
thin  branches  of  the  poplars  trembled  in  the  wind  which 
was  shaking  off  the  few  leaves  that  still  hung  on  them. 
All  day  long  these  last,  golden  leaves  hovered  and 
whirled  in  the  air  for  a  few  seconds  and  then  fell,  in 
an  incessant,  melancholy  rain. 

Jeanne  walked  on  down  to  the  wood.  It  gave  her 
the  sad  impression  of  being  in  the  room  of  a  dying  man. 
The  leafy  walls  which  had  separated  the  pretty  winding 
paths  no  longer  existed,  the  branches  of  the  shrubs 
blew  mournfully  one  against  the  other,  the  rustling  of 
the  fallen  leaves,  that  the  wind  was  blowing  about  and 
piling  into  heaps,  sounded  like  a  dying  sigh,  and  the 
birds  hopped  from  tree  to  tree  with  shivering  little 
chirps,  vainly  seeking  a  shelter  from  the  cold.  Shielded 
by  the  elms  which  formed  a  sort  of  vanguard  against 
the  sea-wind,  the  linden  and  the  plane-tree  were  still 
covered  with  leaves,  and  the  one  was  clothed  in  a 
mantle  of  scarlet  velvet,  the  other  in  a  cloak  of  orange 
silk.  Jeanne  walked  slowly  along  the  baroness's  ave- 
nue, by  the  side  of  Couillard's  farm,  beginning  to 
realize  what  a  dull,   monotonous  life  lay  before  her; 


UNE  VIE  79 

then  she  sat  down  on  the  slope  where  Julien  had  first 
told  his  love,  too  sad  even  to  think  and  only  feeling  that 
she  would  like  to  go  to  bed  and  sleep,  so  that  she  might 
escape  from  this  melancholy  day.     Looking  up  she  saw 
a  seagull  blown  along  by  a  gust  of  wind,  and  she  sud- 
denly thought  of  the  eagle  she  had  seen  in  Corsica  in 
the    somber    valley    of    Ota.     As    she    sat    there    she 
could  see  again  the  island  with  its  sun-ripened  oranges. 
Its  strong  perfumes.  Its  pink-topped  mountains,  its  azure 
bays.  Its  ravines,  with  their  rushing  torrents,  and  It  gave 
her  a  sharp  pain  to  think  of  that  happy  time  that  was 
past  and  gone;  and  the  damp,  rugged  country  by  which 
she  was  now  surrounded,  the  mournful  fall  of  the  leaves, 
the  gray  clouds  hurrying  before  the  wind,   made  her 
feel  so  miserable  that  she  went  indoors,  feeling  that  she 
should  cry  If  she  stayed  out  any  longer.      She   found 
her  mother,  who  was  accustomed  to  these  dull  days, 
dozing  over  the  fire.     The  baron  and  Julien  had  gone 
for  a  walk,  and  the  night  was  drawing  on  filling  the 
vast    drawing-room    with    dark    shadows    which    were 
sometimes  dispersed  by  the  fitful  gleams  of  the  fire;  out 
of  doors  the  gray  sky  and  muddy  fields  could  just  be 
seen  in  the  fading  light. 

The  baron  and  Julien  came  in  soon  after  Jeanne.  As 
soon  as  he  came  Into  the  gloomy  room  the  baron  rang 
the  bell,  exclaiming: 

"  How  miserable  you  look  in  here !  Let  us  have 
some  lights." 

He  sat  down  before  the  fire,  putting  his  feet  near 
the  flame,  which  made  the  mud  drop  off  his  steaming 
boots. 

*'  I  think  it  is  going  to  freeze,"  he  said,  rubbing  his 


8o  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

hands  together  cheerfully.  "  The  sky  is  clearing 
towards  the  north,  and  it's  a  full  moon  this  evening. 
We  shall  have  a  hard  frost  to-night." 

Then,  turning  towards  his  daughter : 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  he  asked,  "  are  you  glad  to  get 
back  to  your  own  house  and  see  the  old  people  at  home 
again?  " 

This  simple  question  quite  upset  Jeanne.  Her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  she  threw  herself  into  her  father's 
arms,  covering  his  face  with  kisses  as  though  she  would 
ask  him  to  forgive  her  discontent.  She  had  thought 
she  should  be  so  pleased  to  see  her  parents  again,  and 
now,  instead  of  joy,  she  felt  a  coldness  around  her 
heart,  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  regain  all  her 
former  love  for  them  until  they  had  all  dropped  back 
into  their  ordinary  ways  again. 

Dinner  seemed  very  long  that  evening ;  no  one  spoke, 
and  Julien  did  not  pay  the  least  attention  to  his  wife. 
In  the  drawing-room  after  dinner,  Jeanne  dozed  over 
the  fire  opposite  the  baroness  who  was  quite  asleep,  and, 
when  she  was  aroused  for  a  moment  by  the  voices  of 
the  two  men,  raised  in  argument  over  something,  she 
wondered  if  she  would  ever  become  quite  content  with 
a  pleasureless,  listless  life  like  her  mother.  The  crack- 
ling fire  burnt  clear  and  bright,  and  threw  sudden 
gleams  on  the  faded  tapestry  chairs,  on  the  fox  and  the 
stork,  on  the  melancholy-looking  heron,  on  the  ant  and 
the  grasshopper.  The  baron  came  over  to  the  fireplace, 
and  held  his  hands  to  the  blaze. 

"  The  fire  burns  well  to-night,"  he  said;  "  there  is  a 
frost,  I  am  sure." 

He  put  his  hands  on  Jeanne's  shoulder,  and,  point- 
ing to  the  fire : 


UNE  VIE  81 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  "  the  hearth  with  all  one's 
family  around  it  is  the  happiest  spot  on  earth;  there 
is  no  place  like  it.  But  don't  you  think  we  had  better, 
go  to  bed?  You  must  both  be  quite  worn  out  with 
fatigue.'' 

Up  in  her  bedroom  Jeanne  wondered  how  this 
second  return  to  the  place  she  loved  so  well  could  be 
so  different  from  the  first.  "  Why  did  she  feel  so  mis- 
erable? "  she  asked  herself;  "  why  did  the  chateau,  the 
fields,  everything  she  had  so  loved,  seem  to-day  so  deso- 
late?" Her  eyes  fell  on  the  clock.  The  little  bee 
was  swinging  from  left  to  right  and  from  right  to  left 
over  the  gilded  flowers,  with  the  same  quick  even  move- 
ment as  of  old.  She  suddenly  felt  a  glow  of  affection 
for  this  little  piece  of  mechanism,  which  told  her  the 
hour  in  its  silvery  tones,  and  beat  like  a  human  heart, 
and  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  it; 
she  had  not  felt  so  moved  when  she  had  kissed  her 
father  and  mother  on  her  return,  but  the  heart  has  no 
rules  or  logic,  to  guide  it. 

Julien  had  made  his  fatigue  the  pretext  for  not 
sharing  his  wife's  chamber  that  night,  so,  for  the  first 
time  since  her  marriage,  she  slept  alone.  It  had  been 
agreed  that  henceforth  they  should  have  separate 
rooms,  but  she  was  not  yet  accustomed  to  sleep  alone, 
and,  for  a  long  time  she  lay  awake  while  the  moaning 
wind  swept  round  the  house.  In  the  morning  she  was 
aroused  by  the  blood-red  light  falling  on  her  bed. 
Through  the  frozen  window-panes  it  looked  as  if  the 
whole  sky  were  on  fire.  Throwing  a  big  dressing- 
gown  round  her,  Jeanne  ran  to  the  window  and  opened 
it,   and   In   rushed  an   icy  wind,   stinging  her  skin   and 

bringing  the  water  to  her  eyes.      In  the  midst  of  a  crim- 
V— 0 


82  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

son  sky,  the  great  red  sun  was  rising  behind  the  trees, 
and  the  white  frost  had  made  the  ground  so  hard  that 
it  rang  under  the  farm-servant's  feet.  In  this  one 
night  all  the  branches  of  the  poplars  had  been  entirely 
stripped  of  their  few  remaining  leaves,  and,  through 
the  bare  trees,  beyond  the  plain,  appeared  the  long, 
green  line  of  the  sea,  covered  with  white-crested  waves. 
The  plane-tree  and  the  linden  were  being  rapidly 
stripped  of  their  bright  coverings  by  the  cold  wind,  and 
showers  of  leaves  fell  to  the  ground  as  each  gust  swept 
by. 

Jeanne  dressed  herself,  and  for  want  of  something 
better  to  do,  went  to  see  the  farmers.  The  Martins 
were  v^ery  surprised  to  see  her.  Madame  Martin 
kissed  her  on  both  cheeks,  and  she  had  to  drink  a  little 
glass  of  noyau ;  then  she  went  over  to  the  other  farm. 
The  Couillards  were  also  very  surprised  when  she  came 
in;  the  farmer's  wife  gave  two  pecks  at  her  ears  and 
insisted  on  her  drinking  a  little  glass  of  cassis;  then  she 
went  in  to  breakfast.  And  that  day  passed  like  the 
previous  one,  only  it  was  cold  instead  of  damp,  and  the 
other  days  of  the  week  were  like  the  first  two,  and  all 
the  weeks  of  the  month  were  like  the  first  one. 

Little  by  little,  Jeanne's  regrets  for  those  happy,  dis- 
tant lands  vanished;  she  began  to  get  resigned  to  her 
life,  to  feel  an  interest  in  the  many  unimportant  details 
of  the  days,  and  to  perform  her  simple,  regular  occupa- 
tions with  care.  A  disenchantment  of  life,  a  sort  of 
settled  melancholy  gradually  took  possession  of  her. 
What  did  she  want?  She  did  not  know  herself.  She 
had  no  desire  for  society,  no  thirst  for  the  excitement  of 
the  world,  the  pleasures  she  might  have  had  possessed 
^o  attraction  for  her,  but  all  her  dreams  and  illusions 


UNE  VIE  83 

had  faded  away,  leaving  her  life  as  colorless  as  the  old 
tapestry  chairs  in  the  chateau  drawing-room. 

Her  relations  with  Julien  had  completely  changed, 
for  he  became  quite  a  different  man  when  they  settled 
down  after  their  wedding  tour,  like  an  actor  who  be- 
comes himself  again  as  soon  as  he  has  finished  playing 
his  part.  He  hardly  ever  took  any  notice  of  his  wife,  or 
even  spoke  to  her;  all  his  love  seemed  to  have  sud- 
denly disappeared,  and  it  was  very  seldom  that  he  ac- 
companied her  to  her  room  of  a  night.  He  had  taken 
the  management  of  the  estate  and  the  household  into 
his  own  hands,  and  he  looked  into  all  the  accounts, 
saw  that  the  peasants  paid  their  arrears  of  rent,  and  cut 
down  every  expense.  No  longer  the  polished,  elegant 
man  who  had  won  Jeanne's  heart,  he  looked  and  dressed 
like  a  well-to-do  farmer,  neglecting  his  personal  ap- 
pearance with  the  carelessness  of  a  man  w"ho  no  longer 
strives  to  fascinate.  He  always  wore  an  old  velvet 
shooting-jacket,  covered  all  over  with  stains,  which  he 
had  found  one  day  as  he  was  looking  over  his  old 
clothes;  then  he  left  off  shaving,  and  his  long,  un- 
trimmed  beard  made  him  look  quite  plain,  while  his 
hands  never  received  any  attention. 

After  each  meal,  he  drank  four  or  five  small  glasses 
of  brandy,  and  when  Jeanne  affectionately  reproached 
him,  he  answered  so  roughly:  "  Leave  me  alone,  can't 
you?  "  that  she  never  tried  to  reason  with  him  again. 

She  accepted  all  this  in  a  calm  way  that  astonished 
herself,  but  she  looked  upon  him  now  as  a  stranger 
who  was  nothing  whatever  to  her.  She  often  thought 
of  it  all,  and  wondered  how  it  was  that  after  having 
loved  and  married  each  other  in  a  delicious  passion  of 
affection  they  should  suddenly  awake  from  their  dream 


84  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

of  love  as  utter  strangers,  as  if  they  had  never  lain  in 
each  other's  arms.  How  was  it  his  indifference  did 
not  hurt  her  more?  Had  they  been  mistaken  in  each 
other?  Would  she  have  been  more  pained  if  Julien 
had  still  been  handsome,  elegant  and  attractive? 

It  was  understood  that  at  the  new  year  the  baron 
and  baroness  were  to  spend  a  few  months  in  their 
Rouen  house,  leaving  Les  Peuples  to  the  young  people 
who  would  become  settled  that  winter,  and  so  get  ac- 
customed to  the  place  where  they  were  to  pass  their 
lives.  Julien  wanted  to  present  his  wife  to  the  Brise- 
villes,  the  Couteliers  and  the  Fourvilles,  but  they  could 
not  pay  these  visits  yet  because  they  had  not  been  able 
to  get  the  painter  to  change  the  coat-of-arms  on  the 
carriage;  for  nothing  in  the  world  would  have  per- 
suaded Julien  to  go  to  the  neighboring  chateau  in  the 
old  family  carriage,  which  the  baron  had  given  up  to 
him,  until  the  arms  of  the  De  Lamares  had  been  quar- 
tered on  it  with  those  of  the  Leperthius  des  Vauds. 
Now  there  was  only  one  man  in  the  whole  province  who 
made  a  speciality  of  coats-of-arms,  a  painter  from 
Bolbec,  named  Bataille,  who  was  naturally  in  great  re- 
quest among  all  the  Normandy  aristocracy;  so  Julien 
had  to  wait  for  some  time  before  he  could  secure  his 
services. 

At  last,  one  December  morning  just  as  they  were 
finishing  lunch  at  Les  Peuples,  they  saw  a  man,  with  a 
box  on  his  back,  open  the  gate  and  come  up  the  path; 
It  was  Bataille.  He  was  shown  into  the  dining-room, 
and  lunch  was  served  to  him  just  as  if  he  had  been  a 
gentleman,  for  his  constant  intercourse  with  the  provin- 
cial  aristocracy,   his   knowledge   of   the   coats-of-arms» 


UNE  VIE  85 

their  mottoes  and  signification,  made  him  a  sort  of 
herald  with  whom  no  gentleman  need  be  ashamed  ta 
shake  hands. 

Pencils  and  paper  were  brought,  and  while  Bataille 
ate  his  lunch,  the  baron  and  Julien  made  sketches  of 
their  escutcheons  with  all  the  quarters.  The  baroness, 
always  delighted  when  anything  of  this  sort  was  dis- 
cussed, gave  her  advice,  and  even  Jeanne  took  part  in 
the  conversation,  as  if  it  aroused  some  interest  in  her. 
Bataille,  without  interrupting  his  lunch,  occasionally 
gave  an  opinion,  took  the  pencil  to  make  a  sketch  of  his 
idea,  quoted  examples,  described  all  the  aristocratic  car- 
riages in  Normandy,  and  seemed  to  scatter  an  atmos- 
phere of  nobility  all  around  him.  He  was  a  little  man 
with  thin  gray  hair  and  paint-daubed  hands  which  smelt 
of  oil.  It  was  said  that  he  had  once  committed  a  grave 
offense  against  public  morality,  but  the  esteem  in  which 
he  was  held  by  all  the  titled  families  had  long  ago 
effaced  this  stain  on  his  character. 

As  soon  as  the  painter  had  finished  his  coffee,  he  was 
taken  to  the  coach-house  and  the  carriage  was  un- 
covered. Bataille  looked  at  it,  gave  an  idea  of  the  size 
he  thought  the  shield  ought  to  be,  and  then,  after  the 
others  had  again  giv^en  their  opinions,  he  began  his 
work.  In  spite  of  the  cold  the  baroness  ordered  a  chair 
and  a  foot-warmer  to  be  brought  out  for  her  that  she 
might  sit  and  watch  the  painter.  Soon  she  began  to 
talk  to  him,  asking  him  about  the  marriages  and  births 
and  deaths  of  which  she  had  not  yet  heard,  and  adding 
these  fresh  details  to  the  genealogical  trees  which  she 
already  knew  by  heart.  Beside  her,  astride  a  chair, 
sat  Julien,  smoking  a  pipe  and  occasionally  spitting  on 
the  ground  as  he  watched  the  growth  of  the  colored 


86  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

certificate  of  his  nobility.  Soon  old  Simon  on  his  way 
to  the  kitchen  garden  stopped,  with  his  spade  on  his 
shoulder,  to  look  at  the  painting,  and  the  news  of 
Bataille's  arrival  having  reached  the  two  farms  the 
farmers'  wives  came  hurrying  up  also.  Standing  on 
either  side  of  the  baroness,  they  went  into  ecstasies  over 
the  drawing  and  kept  repeating:  "  He  must  be  clever 
to  paint  like  that." 

The  shields  on  both  carriage-doors  were  finished  the 
next  morning  about  eleven  o'clock.  Everyone  came  to 
look  at  the  work  now  it  was  done,  and  the  carriage  was 
drawn  out  of  the  coach-house  that  they  might  the  better 
judge  of  the  effect.  The  design  was  pronounced  per- 
fect, and  Bataille  received  a  great  many  compliments 
before  he  strapped  his  box  on  his  back  and  went  off 
again ;  the  baron,  his  wife,  Jeanne  and  Julien  all  agreed 
that  the  painter  was  a  man  of  great  talent,  and  would, 
no  doubt,  have  become  an  artist,  if  circumstances  had 
permitted. 

For  the  sake  of  economy,  Julien  had  accomplished 
some  reforms  which  brought  with  them  the  need  of 
fresh  arrangements.  The  old  coachman  now  performed 
the  duties  of  gardener,  the  vicomte  himself  undertaking 
to  drive,  and  as  he  was  obliged  to  have  someone  to 
hold  the  horses  when  the  family  went  to  make  a  visit, 
he  had  made  a  groom  of  a  young  cowherd  named 
Marius.  The  horses  had  been  sold  to  do  away  with 
the  expense  of  their  keep,  so  he  had  introduced  a 
clause  in  Couillard's  and  Martin's  leases  by  which  the 
two  farmers  bound  themselves  to  each  provide  a  horse 
once  a  month,  on  whatever  day  the  vicomte  chose. 

When  the  day  came  the  Couillards  produced  a  big, 
raw-boned,  yellowish  horse,  and  the  Martins  a  little, 


UNE  VIE  87 

white,  long-haired  nag;  the  two  horses  w^ere  harnessed, 
and  Marius,  buried  in  an  old  livery  of  Simon's,  brought 
the  carriage  round  to  the  door.  Julien,  who  was  in  his 
best  clothes,  would  have  looked  a  little  like  his  old, 
elegant  self,  if  his  long  beard  had  not  made  him  look 
common.  He  inspected  the  horses,  the  carriage,  and 
the  little  groom,  and  thought  they  looked  very  well,  the 
only  thing  of  any  importance  in  his  eyes  being  the  new 
coat-of-arms.  The  baroness  came  downstairs  on  her 
husband's  arm,  got  in,  and  had  some  cushions  put  be- 
hind her  back;  then  came  Jeanne.  She  laughed  first  at 
the  strange  pair  of  horses,  and  her  laughter  increased 
when  she  saw  JNIarius  with  his  face  buried  under  his 
cockaded  hat  (which  his  nose  alone  prevented  from  slip- 
ping  down  to  his  chin),  and  his  hands  lost  in  his  ample 
sleeves,  and  the  skirts  of  his  coat  coming  right  dowm  to 
his  feet,  which  were  encased  in  enormous  boots;  but 
when  she  saw  him  obliged  to  throw  his  head  right  back 
before  he  could  see  anything,  and  raise  his  knee  at  each 
step  as  though  he  were  going  to  take  a  river  in  his 
stride,  and  move  like  a  blind  man  when  he  had  an  order 
given  him,  she  gave  a  shout  of  laughter.  The  baron 
turned  round,  looked  for  a  moment  at  the  little  fellow 
who  stood  looking  so  confused  in  his  big  clothes,  and 
then  he  too  was  overcome  with  laughter,  and,  hardly 
able  to  speak,  called  out  to  his  wife: 

"  Lo-lo-look  at  Ma-Marlus!  Does-doesn't  he  look 
fun- funny?  " 

The  baroness  leaned  out  of  the  carriage-window,  and, 
catching  sight  of  Marius,  she  was  shaken  by  such  a  fit 
of  laughter  that  the  carriage  moved  up  and  down  on 
its  springs  as  if  it  were  jolting  over  some  deep  ruts. 

"  What  on  earth  is  there  to  laugh  at  like  that?  "  said 


88  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

Julien,  his  face  pale  with  anger,  "  You  must  be  per- 
fect idiots,  all  of  you." 

Jeanne  sat  down  on  the  steps,  holding  her  sides  and 
quite  unable  to  contain  herself;  the  baron  followed  her 
example,  and,  inside  the  carriage,  convulsive  sneezes 
and  a  sort  of  continual  clucking  intimated  that  the  bar- 
oness was  suffocating  with  laughter.  At  last  Marlus' 
coat  began  to  shake;  no  doubt,  he  understood  the  cause 
of  all  this  mirth,  and  he  giggled  himself,  beneath  his  big 
hat.  Julien  rushed  towards  him  in  a  rage;  he  gave 
him  a  box  on  the  ear  which  knocked  the  boy's  hat  oft 
and  sent  it  rolling  onto  the  grass;  then,  turning  to  the 
baron,  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  anger : 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  be  the  last  one  to  laugh. 
Whose  fault  is  it  that  you  are  ruined  ?  We  should  not 
be  like  this  if  you  had  not  squandered  your  fortune  and 
thrown  away  your  money  right  and  left." 

All  the  laughter  stopped  abruptly,  but  no  one  spoke. 
Jeanne,  ready  to  cry  now,  quietly  took  her  place  beside 
her  mother.  The  baron,  without  a  word,  sat  down 
opposite,  and  Julien  got  up  on  the  box,  after  lifting  up 
the  crying  boy  whose  cheek  was  beginning  to  swell. 
The  long  drive  was  performed  in  silence,  for  they  all 
felt  awkward  and  unable  to  converse  on  ordinary  topics. 
They  could  only  think  of  the  incident  that  had  just 
happened,, and,  rather  than  broach  such  a  painful  sub- 
ject, they  preferred  to  sit  in  dull  silence. 

They  went  past  a  great  many  farm-houses  startling 
the  black  fowls  and  sending  them  to  the  hedges  for 
refuge,  and  sometimes  a  yelping  dog  followed  for  a 
little  while  and  then  ran  back  to  his  kennel  with  bristling 
hair,  turning  round  every  now  and  then  to  send  another 
bark  after  the  carriage.     A  lad  in  muddy  sabots,  was 


UNE  VIE  89 

slouching  along  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his 
blouse  blown  out  by  the  wind  and  his  long  lazy  legs 
dragging  one  after  the  other,  and  as  he  stood  on  one 
side  for  the  carriage  to  pass,  he  awkwardly  pulled  off 
his  cap.  Between  each  farm  lay  meadows  with  other 
farms  dotted  here  and  there  in  the  distance,  and  it 
seemed  a  long  while  before  they  turned  up  an  av^enue  of 
firs  which  bordered  the  road.  Here  the  carriage  leant 
on  one  side  as  it  passed  over  the  deep  ruts,  and  the 
baroness  felt  frightened  and  began  to  give  little  screams. 
At  the  end  of  the  avenue  there  was  a  white  gate  which 
Marius  jumped  down  to  open,  and  then  they  drove 
round  an  immense  lawn  and  drew  up  before  a  high, 
gloomy-looking  house  which  had  all  its  shutters  closed. 

The  hall-door  opened,  and  an  old,  semi-paralyzed 
servant  (in  a  red  and  black  striped  waistcoat,  over 
which  was  tied  an  apron)  limped  sideways  down  the 
steps;  after  asking  the  visitors'  names  he  showed  them 
into  a  large  drawing-room,  and  drew  up  the  closed 
Venetian  blinds.  The  furniture  was  all  covered  up, 
and  the  clock  and  candelabra  were  enveloped  in  white 
cloths;  the  room  smelt  moldy,  and  its  damp,  cold  at- 
mosphere seemed  to  chill  one  to  the  very  heart.  The 
visitors  sat  down  and  waited.  Footsteps  could  be  heard 
on  the  floor  above,  hurrying  along  in  an  unusual  bus- 
tle, for  the  lady  of  the  house  had  been  taken  unawares 
and  was  changing  her  dress  as  quickly  as  possible;  a 
bell  rang  several  times  and  then  they  could  hear  more 
footsteps  on  the  stairs.  The  baroness,  feeling  thor- 
oughly cold,  began  to  sneeze  frequently;  Julien  walked 
up  and  down  the  room,  Jeanne  sat  by  her  mother,  and 
the  baron  stood  with  his  back  against  the  marble  mantel- 
piece 


90  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

At  last  a  door  opened,  and  the  Vicomte  and  Vicom- 
tesse  de  Briseville  appeared.  They  were  a  little,  thin 
couple  of  an  uncertain  age,  both  very  formal  and  rather 
embarrassed.  The  vicomtesse  wore  a  flowered  silk 
gown  and  a  cap  trimmed  with  ribbons,  and  when  she 
spoke  it  was  in  a  sharp,  quick  voice.  Her  husband  was 
in  a  tight  frock-coat;  his  hair  looked  as  if  it  had  been 
waxed,  and  his  nose,  his  eyes,  his  long  teeth  and  his  coat, 
which  was  evidently  his  best  one,  all  shone  as  if  they 
had  been  polished  with  the  greatest  care.  He  returned 
his  visitors'  bow  with  a  bend  of  the  knees. 

When  the  ordinary  complimentary  phrases  had  been 
exchanged  no  one  knew  what  to  say  next,  so  they  all  po- 
litely expressed  their  pleasure  at  making  this  new  ac- 
quaintance and  hoped  it  would  be  a  lasting  one;  for, 
living  as  they  did  in  the  country  all  the  year  round,  an 
occasional  visit  made  an  agreable  change.  The  icy  air 
of  the  drawing-room  froze  the  very  marrow  of  their 
bones,  and  the  baroness  was  seized  by  a  fit  of  coughing, 
interrupted  at  intervals  by  a  sneeze.  The  baron  rose 
to  go. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  leave  us  already?  Pray<  stay 
a  little  longer,"  said  the  Brisevilles. 

But  Jeanne  followed  her  father's  example  in  spite  of 
all  the  signs  made  her  by  Julien,  who  thought  they  were 
leaving  too  soon.  The  vicomtesse  would  have  rung  to 
order  the  baron's  carriage,  but  the  bell  was  out  of  order, 
so  the  vicomte  went  to  find  a  servant.  He  soon  re- 
turned, to  say  that  the  horses  had  been  taken  out,  and 
the  carriage  would  not  be  ready  for  some  minutes. 
Everyone  tried  to  find  some  subject  of  conversation;  the 
rainy  winter  was  discussed,  and  Jeanne,  who  could  not 


Ux\E  VIE  91 

prevent  herself  shivering,  try  as  she  would,  asked  If 
their  hosts  did  not  find  it  very  dull  living  alone  all  the 
year  round.  Such  a  question  astounded  the  Brisevilles. 
Their  time  was  always  fully  occupied,  what  with  writing 
long  letters  to  their  numerous  aristocratic  relations  and 
pompously  discussing  the  most  trivial  matters,  for  in  all 
their  useless,  petty  occupations,  they  were  as  formally 
polite  to  each  other  as  they  would  have  been  to  utter 
strangers.  At  last  the  carriage,  with  its  two  ill-matched 
steeds,  drew  up  before  the  door,  but  Marius  was  no- 
where to  be  seen;  he  had  gone  for  a  walk  in  the  fields, 
thinking  he  would  not  be  wanted  again  until  the  even- 
ing. Julien,  in  a  great  rage,  left  word  for  him  to  be 
sent  after  them  on  foot,  and,  after  a  great  many  bows 
and  compliments,  they  started  for  Les  Peuples  again. 

As  soon  as  they  were  fairly  off,  Jeanne  and  the  baron, 
in  spite  of  the  uncomfortable  feeling  that  Julien's  ill- 
temper  had  caused,  began  to  laugh  and  joke  about  the 
Brisevilles'  ways  and  tones.  The  baron  imitated  the 
husband  and  Jeanne  the  wife,  and  the  baroness,  feeling 
a  little  hurt  in  her  reverence  for  the  aristocracy,  said  to 
them : 

"  You  should  not  joke  in  that  way.  I'm  sure  the 
Brisevilles  are  very  well-bred  people,  and  they  belong 
to  excellent  families." 

They  stopped  laughing  for  a  time,  out  of  respect  for 
the  baroness's  feelings,  but  every  now  and  then  Jeanne 
would  catch  her  father's  eye,  and  then  they  began  again. 
The  baron  would  make  a  very  stiff  bow,  and  say  in  a 
solemn  voice : 

"  Your  chateau  at  Les  Peuples  must  be  very  cold, 
madame,  with  the  sea-breeze  blowing  on  it  all  day  long." 


92  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

Then  Jeanne  put  on  a  very  prim  look,  and  said  with 
a  smirk,  moving  her  head  all  the  time  like  a  duck  on  the 
water : 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  I  have  plenty  to  fill  up  my  time. 
You  see  we  have  so  many  relations  to  whom  letters  must 
be  written,  and  M.  de  Briseville  leaves  all  correspond- 
ence to  me,  as  his  time  is  taken  up  with  the  religious  his- 
tory of  Normandy  that  he  is  writing  in  collaboration 
with  the  Abbe  Pelle." 

The  baroness  could  not  help  smiling,  but  she  re- 
peated, in  a  half-vexed,  half-amused  tone: 

"  It  isn't  right  to  laugh  at  people  of  our  own  rank 
like  that." 

All  at  once  the  carriage  came  to  a  standstill,  and 
Julien  called  out  to  someone  on  the  road  behind;  Jeanne 
and  the  baron  leant  out  of  the  windows,  and  saw  some 
singular  creature  rolling,  rather  than  running,  towards 
them.  Hindered  by  the  floating  skirts  of  his  coat,  un- 
able to  see  for  his  hat,  which  kept  slipping  over  his  eyes, 
his  sleeves  waving  like  the  sails  of  a  windmill,  splashing 
through  the  puddles,  stumbling  over  every  large  stone 
in  his  way,  hastening,  jumping,  covered  with  mud,  Ma- 
rius  was  running  after  the  carriage  as  fast  as  his  legs 
could  carry  him.  As  soon  as  he  came  up  Julien  leant 
down,  caught  hold  of  him  by  the  coat  collar,  and.lifted 
him  up  on  the  box  seat;  then,  dropping  the  reins,  he 
began  to  pommel  the  boy's  hat,  which  at  once  slipped 
down  to  his  shoulders.  Inside  the  hat,  which  sounded 
as  if  it  had  been  a  drum,  Marius  yelled  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  but  it  was  in  vain  that  he  struggled  and  tried 
to  jump  down,  for  his  master  held  him  firmly  with  one 
hand  while  he  beat  him  with  the  other. 


LINE  VIK  93 

"Papa!  oh,  papa!"  gasped  Jeanne;  and  the  bar- 
oness, filled  with  indignation,  seized  her  husband's  arm, 
and  exclaimed:  "Stop  him,  Jacques,  stop  him!" 
The  baron  suddenly  let  down  the  front  window,  and, 
catching  hold  of  the  vicomte's  sleeve : 

"  Are  you  going  to  stop  beating  that  child?  "  he  said 
in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  anger. 

Julien  turned  round  in  astonishment. 

"  But  don't  you  see  what  a  state  the  little  wretch  has 
got  his  livery  into?  " 

"What  does  that  matter  to  me?"  exclaimed  the 
baron,  with  his  head  between  the  two.  "  You  sha'n't 
be  so  rough  with  him." 

Julien  got  angry. 

"  Kindly  leave  me  alone,"  he  said;  "  it's  nothing  to 
do  with  you;"  and  he  raised  his  hand  to  strike  the  lad 
again.  The  baron  caught  hold  of  his  son-in-law's  wrist, 
and  flung  his  uplifted  hand  heavily  down  against  the 
woodwork  of  the  seat,  crying : 

"  If  you  don't  stop  that,  I'll  get  out  and  soon  make 
you." 

He  spoke  in  so  determined  a  tone  that  the  vicomte's 
rage  suddenly  vanished,  and,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
he  whipped  up  the  horses,  and  the  carriage  moved  on 
again.  All  this  time  Jeanne  and  her  mother  had  sat 
still,  pale  with  fright,  and  the  beating  of  the  baroness's 
heart  could  be  distinctly  heard.  At  dinner  that  evening 
Julien  was  more  agreeable  than  usual,  and  behaved  as 
if  nothing  had  happened.  Jeanne,  her  father,  and  Ma- 
dame Adelaide  easily  forgave,  and,  touched  by  his  good 
temper,  they  joined  in  his  gayety  with  a  feeling  of  relief. 
When  Jeanne  mentioned  the  Brisevilles,   her  husband 


94  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

even  made  a  joke  about  them,  though  he  quickly  added: 
"  But    one    can    see    directly    that    they    are    gentle- 
people." 

No  more  visits  were  paid,  as  everyone  dreaded  any 
reference  to  Marius,  but  they  were  going  to  send  cards 
to  their  neighbors  on  New  Year's  day,  and  then  wait  to 
call  on  them  until  spring  came,  and  the  weather  \tas 
warmer. 

On  Christmas  day  and  New  Year's  day,  the  cure,  the 
mayor,  and  his  wife  dined  at  Les  Peuples,  and  their  two 
visits  formed  the  only  break  in  the  monotonous  days. 
The  baron  and  baroness  were  to  leave  the  chateau  on 
the  ninth  of  January;  Jeanne'  wanted  them  to  stay 
longer,  but  Julien  did  not  second  her  invitation,  so  the 
baron  ordered  the  post-chaise  to  be  sent  from  Rouen. 
The  evening  before  they  went  away  was  clear  and 
frosty,  so  Jeanne  and  her  father  walked  down  to  Yport, 
for  they  had  not  been  there  since  Jeanne's  return  from 
Corsica. 

They  went  across  the  wood  where  she  had  walked  on 
her  wedding-day  with  him  whose  companion  she  was 
henceforth  to  be,  where  she  had  received  his  first  kiss, 
and  had  caught  her  first  glimpse  of  that  sensual  love 
which  was  not  fully  revealed  to  her  till  that  day  in  the 
valley  of  Ota  when  she  had  drunk  her  husband's  kisses 
with  the  water. 

There  were  no  leaves,  no  climbing  plants,  in  the  copse 
now,  only  the  rustling  of  the  branches,  and  that  dry, 
crackling  noise  that  seems  to  fill  every  wood  in  winter. 

They  reached  the  little  village  and  went  along  the 
empty,  silent  streets,  which  smelt  of  fish  and  of  sea- 
weed. The  big  brown  nets  were  hanging  before  the 
doors,  or  stretched  out  on  the  beach  as  of  old ;  towards 


UNE  VIE  95 

Fecamp  the  green  rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  chff  could  be 
seen,  for  the  tide  was  going  out,  and  all  along  the  beach 
the  big  boats  lay  on  their  sides  looking  like  huge  fish. 

As  night  drew  on,  the  fishermen,  walking  heavily  in 
their  big  sea-boots,  began  to  come  down  on  the  shingle 
in  groups,  their  necks  well  wrapped  up  with  woolen 
scarfs,  and  carrying  a  liter  of  brandy  in  one  hand,  and 
the  boat-lantern  in  the  other.  They  busied  themselves 
round  the  boats,  putting  on  board,  with  true  Normandy 
slowness,  their  nets,  their  buoys,  a  big  loaf,  a  jar  of  but- 
ter, and  the  bottle  of  brandy  and  a  glass.  Then  they 
pushed  oft  the  boats,  which  went  down  the  beach  with 
a  harsh  noise,  then  rushed  through  the  surf,  balanced 
themselves  on  the  crest  of  a  wave  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  spread^their  brown  wings  and  disappeared  into  the 
night,  with  their  little  lights  shining  at  the  bottom  of 
the  masts.  The  sailors'  wives,  their  big,  bony  frames 
shown  oft  by  their  thin  dresses,  stayed  until  the  last  fish- 
erman had  gone  oft,  and  then  went  back  to  the  hushed 
village,  where  their  noisy  voices  roused  the  sleeping 
echoes  of  the  gloomy  streets. 

The  baron  and  Jeanne  stood  watching  these  men  go 
oft  into  the  darkness,  as  they  went  off  every  night,  risk- 
ing their  lives  to  keep  themselves  from  starving,  and 
yet  gaining  so  little  that  they  could  never  afford  to  eat 
meat. 

"What  a  terrible,  beautiful  thing  is  the  ocean!" 
said  the  baron.  "  How  many  lives  are  at  this  very  mo- 
ment in  danger  on  it,  and  yet  how  exquisite  it  looks  now, 
with  the  shadows  falling  over  it!  Doesn't  it,  Jean- 
nette?" 

"  This  is  not  so  pretty  as  the  Mediterranean,"  she 
answered  with  a  watery  smile. 


96  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

"The  Mediterranean!  "  exclaimed  the  baron  scorn- 
fully. "  Why,  the  Mediterranean's  nothing  but  oil  or 
sugared  water,  while  this  sea  is  terrific  with  its  crests  of 
foam  and  its  wild  waves.  And  think  of  those  men 
who  have  just  gone  off  on  it,  and  who  are  already  out 
of  sight." 

Jeanne  gave  in. 

"  Yes,  perhaps  you  are  right,"  she  said  with  a  sigh, 
for  the  word  "  Mediterranean  "  had  sent  a  pang 
through  her  heart,  and  turned  her  thoughts  to  those  far- 
away countries  where  all  her  dreams  lay  buried. 

They  did  not  go  back  through  the  wood,  but  walked 
along  the  road;  they  walked  in  silence,  for  both  were 
saddened  by  the  thought  of  the  morrow's  parting.  As 
they  passed  the  farmhouses,  they  could  smell  the  crushed 
apples  —  that  scent  of  new  cider  which  pervades  all 
Normandy  at  this  time  of  the  year  —  or  the  strong 
odor  of  cows  and  the  healthy,  warm  smell  of  a  dung- 
hill. The  dwelling  houses  could  be  distinguished  by 
their  little  lighted  windows,  and  these  tiny  lights,  scat- 
tered over  the  country,  made  Jeanne  think  of  the  lone- 
liness of  human  creatures,  and  how  everything  tends  to 
separate  and  tear  them  away  from  those  they  love,  and 
her  heart  seemed  to  grow  bigger  and  more  capable  of 
understanciing  the  mysteries  of  existence. 

"  Life  is  not  always  gay,"  she  said  in  tones  of  resigna- 
tion. 

The  baron  sighed. 

"  That  is  true,  my  child,"  he  replied;  "  but  we  can- 
not help  it." 

The  next  day  the  baron  anci  baroness  went  away, 
leaving  Jeanne  and  Julien  alone. 


UNE  VIE  97 

VII 

The  young  couple  got  into  the  habit  of  playing 
cards;  every  day  after  lunch  Jeanne  played  several 
games  of  bezique  with  her  husband,  while  he  smoked 
his  pipe  and  drank  six  or  eight  glasses  of  brandy. 
When  they  had  finished  playing,  Jeanne  wenr  upstairs 
to  her  bedroom,  and,  sitting  by  the  window,  worked  at 
a  petticoat  flounce  she  was  embroidering,  while  the  wind 
and  rain  beat  against  the  panes.  When  her  eyes  ached 
she  looked  out  at  the  foamy,  restless  sea,  gazed  at  it 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  took  up  her  work  again. 

She  had  nothing  else  to  do,  for  Julien  had  taken  the 
entire  management  of  the  house  into  his  hands,  that  he 
might  thoroughly  satisfy  his  longing  for  authority  and 
his  mania  for  economy.  He  was  exceedingly  stingy; 
he  never  gave  the  servants  anything  beyond  their  exact 
wages,  never  allowed  any  food  that  was  not  strictly  nec- 
essary. Every  morning,  ever  since  she  had  been  at  Les 
Peuples,  the  baker  had  made  Jeanne  a  little  Normandy 
cake,  but  Julien  cut  oft  this  expense,  and  Jeanne  had  to 
content  herself  with  toast. 

Wishing  to  avoid  all  arguments  and  quarrels,  she 
never  made  any  remark,  but  each  fresh  proof  of  her 
husband's  avarice  hurt  her  like  the  prick  of  a  needle. 
It  seemed  so  petty,  so  odious  to  her,  brought  up  as  she 
had  been  in  a  family  where  money  was  never  thought 
of  any  importance.  How  often  she  had  heard  her 
mother  say:  "  Money  is  made  to  be  spent  ";  but  now 
Julien  kept  saying  to  her:  "  Will  you  never  be  cured 
of  throwing  money  away?  "  Whenever  he  could  man- 
age to  reduce  a  salary  or  a  bill  by  a  few  pence  he  would 
V— 7 


98  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

slip  the  money  into  his  pocket,  saying,  with  a  pleased 


smile 


Little  streams  make  big  rivers." 

Jeanne  would  sometimes  find  herself  dreaming  as  she 
used  to  do  before  she  was  married.  She  would  gradu- 
ally stop  working,  and  with  her  hands  lying  idle  in  her 
lap  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  space,  she  built  castles  in  the 
air  as  if  she  were  a  young  girl  again.  But  the  voice  of 
Julien,  giving  an  order  to  old  Simon,  would  call  her 
back  to  the  realities  of  life,  and  she  would  take  up  her 
work,  thinking,  "  Ah,  that  is  all  over  and  done  with 
now,"  and  a  tear  would  fall  on  her  fingers  as  they 
pushed  the  needle  through  the  stuff. 

Rosalie,  who  used  to  be  so  gay  and  lively,  always 
singing  snatches  of  songs  as  she  went  about  her  work, 
gradually  changed  also.  Her  plump  round  cheeks  had 
fallen  in  and  lost  their  brightened  color,  and  her  skin 
was  muddy  and  dark.  Jeanne  often  asked  her  if  she 
were  ill,  but  the  little  maid  always  answered  with  a 
faint  blush,  "  No,  madame,"  and  got  away  as  quickly 
as  she  could.  Listead  of  tripping  along  as  she  had 
always  done,  she  now  dragged  herself  painfully  from 
room  to  room,  and  seemed  not  even  to  care  how  she 
looked,  for  the  peddlers  in  vain  spread  out  their  rib- 
bons and  corsets  and  bottles  of  scent  before  her;  she 
never  bought  anything  from  them  now. 

At  the  end  of  January,  the  heavy  clouds  came  across 
the  sea  from  the  north,  and  there  was  a  heavy  fall  of 
snow.  In  one  night  the  whole  plain  was  whitened,  and, 
in  the  morning  the  trees  looked  as  if  a  mantle  of  frozen 
foam  had  been  cast  over  them. 

Julien  put  on  his  high  boots,  and  passed  his  time  in 
the  ditch  between  the  wood  and  the  plain,  watching  for 


UNE  VIE  99 

the  migrating  birds.  Every  now  and  then  his  shots 
would  break  the  frozen  silence  of  the  fields,  and  hordes 
of  black  crows  flew  from  the  trees  in  terror.  Jeanne, 
tired  of  staying  indoors,  would  go  out  on  the  steps  of 
the  house,  where,  in  the  stillness  of  this  snow-covered 
world,  she  could  hear  the  bustle  of  the  farms,  or  the 
far-away  murmur  of  the  waves  and  the  soft  continual 
rustle  of  the  falling  snow. 

On  one  of  these  cold,  white  mornings  she  was  sitting 
by  her  bedroom  fire,  while  Rosalie,  who  looked  worse 
and  worse  every  day,  was  slowly  making  the  bed.  All 
at  once  Jeanne  heard  a  sigh  of  pain  behind  her.  With- 
out turning  her  head,  she  asked: 

''  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Rosalie?  " 

The  maid  answered  as  she  always  did : 

"  Nothing,  madame,"  but  her  voice  seemed  to  die 
away  as  she  spoke. 

Jeanne  had  left  off  thinking  about  her,  when  she  sud- 
denly noticed  that  she  could  not  hear  the  girl  moving. 
She  called:     "  Rosalie." 

There  was  no  answer.  Then  she  thought  that  the 
maid  must  have  gone  quietly  out  of  the  room  without 
her  hearing  her,  and  she  cried  in  a  louder  tone : 
"Rosalie!"  Again  she  received  no  answer,  and  she 
was  just  stretching  out  her  hand  to  ring  the  bell,  when 
she  heard  a  low  moan  close  beside  her.  She  started  up 
in  terror. 

Rosalie  was  sitting  on  the  floor  with  her  back  against 
the  bed,  her  legs  stretched  stifiiy  out,  her  face  livid,  and 
her  eyes  staring  straight  before  her.  Jeanne  rushed  to 
her  side. 

"Oh,  Rosalie!  What  is  the  matter?  what  is  it?" 
she  asked  In  affright. 


loo  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

The  maid  did  not  answer  a  word,  but  fixed  her  wild 
eyes  on  her  mistress  and  gasped  for  breath,  as  if  tor- 
tured by  some  excruciating  pain.  Then,  stiffening 
every  muscle  in  her  body,  and  stifling  a  cry  of  anguish 
between  her  clenched  teeth,  she  slipped  down  on  her 
back,  and  all  at  once,  something  stirred  underneath  her 
dress,  which  clung  tightly  round  her  legs.  Jeanne 
heard  a  strange,  gushing  noise,  something  like  the 
death-rattle  of  someone  who  is  suffocating,  and  then 
came  a  long  low  wail  of  pain;  it  was  the  first  cry  of  suf- 
fering of  a  child  entering  the  world. 

The  sound  came  as  a  revelation  to  her,  and,  suddenly 
losing  her  head,  she  rushed  to  the  top  of  the  stairs, 
crying : 

"  Julien  !     Julien  !  " 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  he  answered,  from  below. 

She  gasped  out,  "  It's  Rosalie  who  —  who  — "  but 
before  she  could  say  any  more  Julien  was  rushing  up  the 
stairs  two  at  a  time;  he  dashed  into  the  bedroom,  raised 
the  girl's  clothes,  and  there  lay  a  creased,  shriveled,  hid- 
eous, little  atom  of  humanity,  feebly  whining  and  try- 
ing to  move  its  limbs.  He  got  up  with  an  evil  look  on 
his  face,  and  pushed  his  distracted  wife  out  of  the  room, 
saying : 

"  This  is  no  place  for  you.  Go  away  and  send  me 
Ludivine  and  old  Simon." 

Jeanne  went  down  to  the  kitchen  trembling  all  over, 
to  deliver  her  husband's  message,  and  then  afraid  to  go 
upstairs  again,  she  went  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
a  fire  was  never  lighted,  now  her  parents  were  away. 
Soon  she  saw  Simon  run  out  of  the  house,  and  come 
back  five  minutes  after  with  Widow  Dentu,  the  village 
midwife.      Next  she  heard  a  noise  on  the  stairs  which 


UNE  VIE  loi 

sounded  as  if  they  were  carrying  a  body,  then  Julien 
came  to  tell  her  that  she  could  go  back  to  her  room. 
She  went  upstairs  and  sat  down  again  before  her  bed- 
room fire,  trembling  as  if  she  had  just  witnessed  some 
terrible  accident. 

"  How  is  she?  "  she  asked. 

Julien,  apparently  in  a  great  rage,  was  walking  about 
the  room  in  a  preoccupied,  nervous  way.  He  did  not 
answer  his  wife  for  some  moments,  but  at  last  he  asked, 
stopping  in  his  walk: 

"  Well,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  with  this  girl?  " 

Jeanne  looked  at  her  husband  as  if  she  did  not  un- 
derstand his  question. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  said.  "  1  don't  know; 
how  should  I  ?  " 

"  Well,  anyhow,  we  can't  keep  that  child  in  the 
house,"  he  cried,  angrily. 

Jeanne  looked  very  perplexed,  and  sat  in  silence  for 
some  time.     At  last  she  said : 

"  But,  my  dear,  we  could  put  it  out  to  nurse  some- 
where? " 

He  hardly  let  her  finish  her  sentence. 

"  And  who'll  pay  for  it  ?     Will  you  ?  " 

"  But  surely  the  father  will  take  care  of  it,"  she 
said,  after  another  long  silence.  "  And  if  he  marries 
Rosalie,  everything  will  be  all  right." 

"The  father!"  answered  Julien,  roughly;  "the 
father!  Do  you  know  who  is  the  father?  Of  course 
you  don't.      \'ery  well,  then  !  " 

Jeanne  began  to  get  troubled:  "But  he  certainly 
will  not  forsake  the  girl;  it  would  be  such  a  cowardly 
thing  to  do.  We  will  ask  her  his  name,  and  go  and  sec 
him  and  force  him  to  give  some  account  of  himself." 


102  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

Julien  had  become  calmer,  and  was  again  walking 
about  the  room. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  he  replied,  "  I  don't  believe  she  will 
tell  you  the  man's  name,  or  me  either.  Besides,  sup- 
pose he  wouldn't  marry  her?  You  must  see  that  we 
can't  keep  a  girl  and  her  illegitimate  child  in  our  house." 

But  Jeanne  would  only  repeat,  doggedly: 

"Then  the  man  must  be  a  villain;  but  we  will  find 
out  who  he  is,  and  then  he  will  have  us  to  deal  with 
instead  of  that  poor  girl." 

Julien  got  very  red. 

"  But  until  we  know  who  he  is?  "  he  asked. 

She  did  not  know  what  to  propose,  so  she  asked 
Julien  what  he  thought  was  the  best  thing  to  do.  He 
gave  his  opinion  very  promptly. 

"  Oh,  I  should  give  her  some  money,  and  let  her  and 
her  brat  go  to  the  devil." 

That  made  Jeanne  very  indignant. 

"That  shall  never  be  done,"  she  declared;  "  Rosa- 
lie is  my  foster-sister,  and  we  have  grown  up  together. 
She  has  erred,  it  is  true,  but  I  will  never  turn  her  out-of- 
doors  for  that,  and,  if  there  is  no  other  way  out  of  the 
difficulty,  I  will  bring  up  the  child  myself." 

"  And  we  should  have  a  nice  reputation,  shouldn't 
we,  with  our  name  and  connections?  "  burst  out  Julien. 
"  People  would  say  that  we  encouraged  vice,  and  shel- 
tered prostitutes,  and  respectable  people  would  never 
come  near  us.  Why,  what  can  you  be  thinking  of? 
You  must  be  mad!  " 

"  I  will  never  have  Rosalie  turned  out,"  she  repeated, 
quietly.  "  If  you  will  not  keep  her  here,  my  mother 
will  take  her  back  again.  But  we  are  sure  to  find  out 
the  name  of  the  father." 


UXE  VIE  103 

At  that,  he  went  out  of  the  room,  too  angry  to  talk 
to  her  any  longer,  and  as  he  banged  the  door  after  him 
he  cried: 

"  Women  are  fools  with  their  absurd  notions!  " 

In  the  afternoon  Jeanne  went  up  to  see  the  in\alid. 
She  was  lying  in  bed,  wide  awake,  and  the  \Yidow 
Dentu  was  rocking  the  child  in  her  arms.  As  soon  as 
she  saw  her  mistress  Rosalie  began  to  sob  violently,  and 
when  Jeanne  wanted  to  kiss  her,  she  turned  away  and 
hid  her  face  under  the  bed-clothes.  The  nurse  inter- 
fered and  drew  down  the  sheet,  and  then  Rosalie  made 
no  further  resistance,  though  the  tears  still  ran  down 
her  cheeks. 

The  room  was  very  cold,  for  there  was  only  a  small 
fire  in  the  grate,  and  the  child  was  crying.  Jeanne  did 
not  dare  make  any  reference  to  the  little  one,  for  fear 
of  causing  another  burst  of  tears,  but  she  held  Rosalie's 
hand  and  kept  repeating  mechanically: 

"  It  won't  matter;  it  won't  matter." 

The  poor  girl  glanced  shyly  at  the  nurse  from  time 
to  time;  the  child's  cries  seemed  to  pierce  her  heart,  and 
sobs  still  escaped  from  her  occasionally,  though  she 
forced  herself  to  swallow  her  tears.  Jeanne  kissed  her 
again,  and  whispered  in  her  ear:  "We'll  take  good 
care  of  it,  you  may  be  sure  of  that,"  and  then  ran 
quickly  out  of  the  room,  for  Rosalie's  tears  were  begin- 
ning to  flow  again. 

After  that,  Jeanne  went  up  every  day  to  see  the  in- 
valid, and  every  day  Rosalie  burst  into  tears  when  her 
mistress  came  into  the  room.  The  child  was  put  out 
to  nurse,  and  Julien  would  hardly  speak  to  his  wife,  for 
he  could  not  forgive  her  for  refusing  to  dismiss  the 
maid.      One  day  he  returned  to  the  subject,  but  Jeanne 


'i04  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

drew  out  a  letter  from  her  mother  In  which  the  bar- 
oness said  that  if  they  would  not  keep  Rosalie  at  Les 
Peuples  she  was  to  be  sent  on  to  Rouen  directly, 

"  Your  mother's  as  great  a  fool  as  you  are,"  cried 
Julien;  but  he  did  not  say  anything  more  about  sending 
Rosalie  away,  and  a  fortnight  later  the  maid  was  able 
to  get  up  and  perform  her  duties  again. 

One  morning  Jeanne  made  her  sit  down,  and  holding 
both  her  hands  in  hers; 

"  Now,  then,  Rosalie,  tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  said, 
looking  her  straight  in  the  face. 

Rosalie  began  to  tremble. 

"  All  about  what,  madame?  "  she  said,  timidly. 

"  Who  is  the  father  of  your  child?  "  asked  Jeanne. 

A  look  of  despair  came  over  the  maid's  face,  arid  she 
struggled  to  disengage  her  hands  from  her  mistress's 
grasp,  but  Jeanne  kissed  her,  in  spite  of  her  struggles, 
and  tried  to  console  her. 

"  It  is  true  you  have  been  weak,"  she  said,  "  but  you 
are  not  the  first  to  whom  such  a  misfortune  has  hap- 
pened, and,  if  only  the  father  of  the  child  marries  you, 
no  one  will  think  anything  more  about  it;  we  would 
employ  him,  and  he  could  live  here  with  you." 

Rosalie  moaned  as  if  she  were  being  tortured,  and 
tried  to  get  her  hands  free  that  she  might  run  away. 

"  I  can  quite  understand  how  ashamed  you  feel," 
went  on  Jeanne,  "  but  you  see  that  I  am  not  angry,  and 
that  I  speak  kindly  to  you.  I  wish  to  know  this  man's 
name  for  your  own  good,  for  I  fear,  from  your  grief, 
that  he  means  to  abandon  you,  and  I  want  to  prevent 
that.  Julien  will  see  him,  and  we  will  make  him  marry 
you,  and  we  shall  employ  you  both;  we  will  see  that  he 
makes  you  happy." 


UNE  VIE  105 

This  time  Rosalie  made  so  vigorous  an  effort  that 
she  succeeded  in  wrenching  her  hands  away  from  her 
mistress,  and  she  rushed  from  the  room  as  if  she  were 
mad. 

"  I  have  tried  to  make  Rosalie  tell  me  her  seducer's 
name,"  said  Jeanne  to  her  husband  at  dinner  that  even- 
ing, "  but  I  did  not  succeed  in  doing  so.  Try  and  see 
if  she  will  tell  you,  that  we  may  force  the  wretch  to 
marry  her." 

"  There,  don't  let  me  hear  any  more  about  all  that," 
he  said,  angrily.  "  You  wanted  to  keep  this  girl,  and 
you  have  done  so,  but  don't  bother  me  about  her." 

He  seemed  still  more  irritable  since  Rosalie's  confine- 
ment than  he  had  been  before.  He  had  got  into  the 
habit  of  shouting  at  his  wife,  whenever  he  spoke  to  her, 
as  if  he  were  always  angry,  while  she,  on  the  contrary, 
spoke  softly,  and  did  everything  to  avoid  i.  quarrel ;  but 
she  often  cried  when  she  was  alone  in  her  room  at  night. 
In  spite  of  his  bad  temper,  Julien  had  resumed  the  mar- 
ital duties  he  had  so  neglected  since  his  wedding  tour, 
and  it  was  seldom  now  that  he  let  three  nights  pass  with- 
out accompanying  his  wife  to  her  room. 

Rosalie  soon  got  quite  well  again,  and  with  better 
health  came  better  spirits,  but  she  always  seemed  fright- 
ened and  haunted  by  some  strange  dread.  Jeanne  tried 
twice  more  to  make  her  name  her  seducer,  but  each  time 
she  ran  aw^ay,  without  saying  anything.  Julien  sud- 
denly became  better  tempered,  and  his  young  wife  began 
to  cherish  vague  hopes,  and  to  regain  a  little  of  her 
former  gayety;  but  she  often  felt  very  unwell,  though 
she  never  said  anything  about  it. 

For  five  weeks  the  crisp,  shining  snow  had  lain  on  the 
frozen  ground;  in  the  daytime  there  was  not  a  cloud  to 


io6  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

be  seen,  and  at  night  the  sky  was  strewn  with  stars. 
Standing  alone  in  their  square  courtyards,  behind  the 
great  frosted  trees,  the  farms  seemed  dead  beneath  their 
snowy  shrouds.  Neither  men  nor  cattle  could  go  out, 
and  the  only  sign  of  life  about  the  homesteads  and  cot- 
tages was  the  smoke  that  went  straight  up  from  the 
chimneys  into  the  frosty  air. 

The  grass,  the  hedges  and  the  wall  of  elms  seemed 
killed  by  the  cold.  From  time  to  time  the  trees  cracked, 
as  if  the  fibers  of  their  branches  were  separating  be- 
neath the  bark,  and  sometimes  a  big  branch  would 
break  oft  and  fail  to  the  ground,  its  sap  frozen  and 
dried  up  by  the  intense  cold. 

Jeanne  thought  the  severe  weather  was  the  cause  of 
her  ill-health,  and  she  longed  for  the  warm  spring 
breezes.  Sometimes  the  very  idea  of  food  disgusted 
her,  and  she  could  eat  nothing;  at  other  times  she  vom- 
ited after  every  meal,  unable  to  digest  the  little  she  did 
eat.  She  had  violent  palpitations  of  the  heart,  and  she 
lived  in  a  constant  and  intolerable  state  of  nervous  ex- 
citement. 

One  evening,  when  the  thermometer  was  sinking  still 
lower,  Julien  shivered  as  he  left  the  dinner  table  ( for 
the  dining-room  was  never  sufficiently  heated,  so  careful 
was  he  over  the  wood) ,  and  rubbing  his  hands  together : 

"  It's  too  cold  to  sleep  alone  to-night,  isn't  it,  dar- 
ling? "  he  whispered  to  his  wife,  with  one  of  his  old 
good-tempered  laughs. 

Jeanne  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  but  she  felt 
so  ill,  so  nervous,  and  she  had  such  aching  pains  that 
evening,  that,  with  her  lips  close  to  his,  she  begged  him 
to  let  her  sleep  alone. 


UNE  VIE  107 

"  I  feel  so  ill  to-night,"  she  said,  "  but  I  am  sure  to 
be  better  to-morrow." 

"  Just  as  you  please,  my  dear,"  he  answered.  "  If 
you  are  ill,  you  must  take  care  of  yourself."  And  he 
began  to  talk  of  something  else. 

Jeanne  Avent  to  bed  early.  Julien,  for  a  wonder,  or- 
dered a  fire  to  be  lighted  in  his  own  room ;  and  when  the 
servant  came  to  tell  him  that  "  the  fire  had  burnt  up," 
he  kissed  his  wife  on  the  forehead  and  said  good-night. 

The  very  walls  seemed  to  feel  the  cold,  and  made 
little  cracking  noises  as  if  they  were  shivering.  Jeanne 
lay  shaking  with  cold;  twice  she  got  up  to  put  more 
logs  on  the  fire,  and  to  pile  her  petticoats  and  dresses  on 
the  bed,  but  nothing  seemed  to  make  her  any  warmer. 
There  were  nervous  twitchings  in  her  legs,  which  made 
her  toss  and  turn  restlessly  from  side  to  side.  Her  feet 
were  numbed,  her  teeth  chattered,  her  hands  trembled, 
her  heart  beat  so  slowly  that  sometimes  it  seemed  to 
stop  altogether;  and  she  gasped  for  breath  as  if  she 
could  not  draw  the  air  into  her  lungs. 

As  the  cold  crept  higher  and  higher  up  her  limbs,  she 
was  seized  with  a  terrible  fear.  She  had  never  felt  like 
this  before;  life  seemed  to  be  gradually  slipping  away 
from  her,  and  she  thought  each  breath  she  drew  would 
be  her  last. 

"I  am  going  to  die!  I  am  going  to  die!"  she 
thought;  and,  in  her  terror,  she  jumped  out  of  bed,  and 
rang  for  Rosalie. 

No  one  came;  she  rang  again,  and  again  waited  for 
an  answer,  shuddering  and  half-frozen;  but  she  waited 
in  vain.  Perhaps  the  maid  was  sleeping  too  heavily 
for  the  bell  to  arouse  her,  and,  almost  beside  herself 


io8  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

with  fear,  Jeanne  rushed  out  onto  the  landing  without 
putting  anything  around  her,  and  with  bare  feet.  She 
went  noiselessly  up  the  dark  stairs,  felt  for  Rosalie's 
door,  opened  it,  and  called  "  Rosalie !  "  then  went  into 
the  room,  stumbled  against  the  bed,  passed  her  hands 
over  it,  and  found  it  empty  and  quite  cold,  as  if  no  one 
had  slept  in  it  that  night. 

"  Surely  she  cannot  have  gone  out  in  such  weather 
as  this,"  she  thought. 

Her  heart  began  to  beat  so  violently  that  it  almost 
suffocated  her,  and  she  went  downstairs  to  rouse  Julien, 
her  legs  giving  way  under  her  as  she  walked.  She  burst 
open  her  husband's  door,  and  hurried  across  the  room, 
spurred  on  by  the  idea  that  she  was  going  to  die  and 
the  fear  that  she  would  become  unconscious  before  she 
could  see  him  again. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  with  a  shriek,  for  by  the  light 
of  the  dying  fire  she  saw  Rosalie's  head  on  the  pillow 
beside  her  husband's.  At  her  cry  they  both  started  up. 
but  she  had  already  recovered  from  the  first  shock  of  her 
discovery,  and  fled  to  her  room,  while  Julien  called  after 
her,  "Jeanne!  Jeanne!"  She  felt  she  could  not  see 
him  or  listen  to  his  excuses  and  his  lies,  and  again  rush- 
ing out  of  her  room  she  ran  downstairs.  The  staircase 
was  in  total  darkness,  but  filled  with  the  desire  of  flight, 
of  getting  away  without  seeing  or  hearing  any  more, 
she  never  stayed  to  think  that  she  might  fall  and  break 
her  limbs  on  the  stone  stairs. 

On  the  last  step  she  sat  down,  unable  to  think,  un- 
able to  reason,  her  head  in  a  whirl.  Julien  had  jumped 
out  of  bed,  and  was  hastily  dressing  himself.  She 
heard  him  moving  about,  and  she  started  up  to  escape 


UNE  VIE  109 

from  him.  He  came  downstairs,  crying;  "Jeanne, 
do  listen  to  me !  " 

No,  she  would  not  Hsten ;  he  should  not  degrade  her 
by  his  touch.  She  dashed  into  the  dining-room  as  if  a 
murderer  were  pursuing  her,  looked  round  for  a  hiding- 
place  or  some  dark  corner  where  she  might  conceal  her- 
self, and  then  crouched  down  under  the  table.  The 
door  opened,  and  Julien  came  in  with  a  light  in  his 
hand,  still  calling,  "  Jeanne!  Jeanne!  "  She  started  off 
again  like  a  hunted  hare,  tore  into  the  kitchen,  round 
which  she  ran  twice  like  some  wild  animal  at  bay,  then, 
as  he  was  getting  nearer  and  nearer  to  her,  she  suddenly 
flung  open  the  garden  door,  and  rushed  out  into  the 
night. 

Her  bare  legs  sank  into  the  snow  up  to  her  knees,  and 
this  icy  contact  gave  her  new  strength.  Although  she 
had  nothing  on  but  her  chemise  she  did  not  feel  the  bit- 
ter cold;  her  mental  anguish  was  too  great  for  the  con- 
sciousness of  any  mere  bodily  pain  to  reach  her  brain, 
and  she  ran  on  and  on,  looking  as  white  as  the  snow- 
covered  earth.  She  did  not  stop  once  to  take  breath, 
but  rushed  on  across  wood  and  plain  without  knowing 
or  thinking  of  what  she  was  doing.  Suddenly  she 
found  herself  at  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  She  instinctively 
stopped  short,  and  then  crouched  down  in  the  snow  and 
lay  there  with  her  mind  as  powerless  to  think  as  her 
body  to  move. 

All  at  once  she  began  to  tremble,  as  does  a  sail  when 
caught  by  the  wind.  Her  arms,  her  hands,  her  feet, 
shook  and  twitched  convulsively,  and  consciousness  re- 
turned to  her.  Things  that  had  happened  a  long  time 
before  came  back  to  her  memory :  the  sail  in  Lastique's 


no  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

boat  with  him,  their  conversation,  the  dawn  of  their 
love;  the  christening  of  the  boat;  then  her  thoughts 
went  still  farther  back  till  they  reached  the  night  of 
her  arrival  from  the  convent  —  the  night  she  had  spent 
in  happy  dreams.  And  now,  now!  Her  life  was 
ruined;  she  had  had  all  her  pleasure;  there  were  no 
joys,  no  happiness,  in  store  for  her;  and  she  could  see 
the  terrible  future  with  all  its  tortures,  its  deceptions, 
and  despair.  Surely  it  would  be  better  to  die  now,  at 
once. 

She  heard  a  voice  In  the  distance  crying : 

"This  way!  this  way!  Here  are  her  footmarks!  " 
It  was  Julien  looking  for  her. 

Oh !  she  could  not,  she  would  not,  see  him  again ! 
Never  again !  From  the  abyss  before  her  came  the 
faint  sound  of  the  waves  as  they  broke  on  the  rocks. 
She  stood  up  to  throw  herself  over  the  cliff,  and  in  a 
despairing  farewell  to  life,  she  moaned  out  that  last  cry 
of  the  dying  —  the  word  that  the  soldier  gasps  out 
as  he  lies  wounded  to  death  on  the  battlefield  — 
"Mother!" 

Then  the  thought  of  how  her  mother  would  sob  when 
she  heard  of  her  daughters  death,  and  how  her  father 
would  kneel  in  agony  beside  her  mangled  corpse,  flashed 
across  her  mind,  and  In  that  one  second  she  realized  all 
the  bitterness  of  their  grief.  She  fell  feebly  back  on 
the  snow,  and  Julien  and  old  Simon  came  up,  with 
Marius  behind  them  holding  a  lantern.  They  drew 
her  back  before  they  dared  attempt  to  raise  her,  so  near 
the  edge  of  the  cliff  was  she;  and  they  did  with  her  what 
they  liked,  for  she  could  not  move  a  muscle.  She  knew 
that  they  carried  her  indoors,  that  she  was  put  to  bed, 


UNE  VIE  III 

and  rubbed  with  hot  flannels,  and  then  she  was  conscious 
of  nothing  more. 

A  nightmare  —  but  was  it  a  nightmare?  —  haunted 
her.  She  thought  she  was  in  bed  in  her  own  room;  it 
was  broad  dayhght,  but  she  could  not  get  up,  though 
she  did  not  know  why  she  could  not.  She  heard  a  noise 
on  the  boards  —  a  scratching,  rustling  noise  —  and  all 
at  once  a  little  gray  mouse  ran  over  the  sheet.  Then 
another  one  appeared,  and  another  which  came  running 
towards  her  chest.  Jeanne  was  not  frightened;  she 
wanted  to  take  hold  of  the  little  animal,  and  put  out  her 
hand  towards  it,  but  she  could  not  catch  it. 

Then  came  more  mice  —  ten,  twenty,  hundreds, 
thousands,  sprang  up  on  all  sides.  They  ran  up  the 
bed-posts,  and  along  the  tapestry,  and  covered  the  whole 
bed.  They  got  under  the  clothes,  and  Jeanne  could 
feel  them  gliding  over  her  skin,  tickling  her  legs,  run- 
ning up  and  down  her  body.  She  could  see  them  com- 
ing from  the  foot  of  the  bed  to  get  inside  and  creep 
close  to  her  breast,  but  when  she  struggled  and  stretched 
out  her  hands  to  catch  one,  she  always  clutched  the  air. 
Then  she  got  angry,  and  cried  out,  and  wanted  to  run 
away;  she  fancied  someone  held  her  down,  and  that 
strong  arms  were  thrown  around  her  to  prevent  her 
moving,  but  she  could  not  see  anyone.  She  had  no  idea 
of  the  time  that  all  this  lasted;  she  only  knew  that  it 
seemed  a  very  long  while. 

At  last  she  became  conscious  again  —  conscious  that 
she  was  tired  and  aching,  and  yet  better  than  she  had 
been.  She  felt  very,  very  weak.  She  looked  round, 
and  did  not  feel  at  all  surprised  to  see  her  mother  sit- 
ting by  her  bedside  with  a  stout  man  whom  she  did  not 


112  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

know.  She  had  forgotten  how  old  she  was,  and 
thought  she  was  a  httle  child  again,  for  her  memory 
was  entirely  gone. 

"  See,  she  is  conscious,"  said  the  stout  man. 
The  baroness  began  to  cry,  and  the  big  man  said: 
"Come,    come,    madame   le  baronne;    I    assure   you 
there  is  no  longer  any  danger,  but  you  must  not  talk 
to  her;  just  let  her  sleep." 

It  seemed  to  Jeanne  that  she  lay  for  a  long  time  in  a 
doze,  which  became  a  heavy  sleep  if  she  tried  to  think 
of  anything.  She  had  a  vague  idea  that  the  past  con- 
tained something  dreadful,  and  she  was  content  to  lie 
still  without  trying  to  recall  anything  to  her  memory. 
But  one  day,  when  she  opened  her  eyes,  she  saw  Julien 
standing  beside  the  bed,  and  the  curtain  which  hid 
everything  from  her  was  suddenly  drawn  aside,  and  she 
remembered  what  had  happened. 

She  threw  back  the  clothes  and  sprang  out  of  bed 
to  escape  from  her  husband;  but  as  soon  as  her  feet 
touched  the  floor  she  fell  to  the  ground,  for  she  was  too 
weak  to  stand.  Julien  hastened  to  her  assistance,  but 
when  he  attempted  to  raise  her,  she  shrieked  and  rolled 
from  side  to  side  to  avoid  the  contact  of  his  hands. 
The  door  opened,  and  Aunt  Lison  and  the  Widow 
Dentu  hurried  in,  closely  followed  by  the  baron  and  his 
wife,  the  latter  gasping  for  breath. 

They  put  Jeanne  to  bed  again,  and  she  closed  her 
eyes  and  pretended  to  be  asleep  that  she  might  think 
undisturbed.  Her  mother  and  aunt  busied  themselves 
around  her,  saying  from  time  to  time : 
"  Do  you  know  us  now,  Jeanne,  dear?  " 
She  pretended  not  to  hear  them,  and  made  no  an- 
swer; and  in  the  evening  they  went  away,  leaving  her  to 


UNE  VIE  113 

the  care  of  the  nurse.  She  could  not  sleep  all  that 
night,  for  she  was  painfully  trying  to  connect  the  inci- 
dents she  could  remember,  one  with  the  other;  but  there 
seemed  to  be  gaps  in  her  memory  which  she  could  not 
bridge  over.  Little  by  little,  however,  all  the  facts 
came  back  to  her,  and  then  she  tried  to  decide  what  she 
had  better  do.  She  must  have  been  very  ill,  or  her 
mother  and  Aunt  Lison  and  the  baron  would  not  have 
been  sent  for;  but  what  had  Julien  said?  Did  her  par- 
ents know  everything  ?     And  where  was  Rosalie  ? 

The  only  thing  she  could  do  was  to  go  back  to  Rouen 
with  her  father  and  mother;  they  could  all  live  there 
together  as  they  used  to  do,  and  it  w^ould  be  just  the 
same  as  if  she  had  not  been  married. 

The  next  day  she  noticed  and  listened  to  all  that  went 
on  around  her,  but  she  did  not  let  anyone  see  that  she 
understood  everything  and  had  recovered  her  full 
senses.  Towards  evening,  when  no  one  but  the  bar- 
oness was  in  her  room,  Jeanne  whispered  softly: 

"Mother,  dear!" 

She  was  surprised  to  hear  how  changed  her  own  voice 
was,  but  the  baroness  took  her  hands,  exclaiming : 

"  My  child !  my  dear  little  Jeanne !  Do  you  know 
me,  my  pet?  " 

"  Yes,  mother.  But  you  mustn't  cry;  I  want  to  talk 
to  you  seriously.  Did  Julien  tell  you  why  I  ran  out 
Into  the  snow?  " 

"  Yes,  my  darling.  You  have  had  a  very  dangerous 
fever." 

"  That  was  not  the  reason,  mamma;  I  had  the  fever 
afterwards.  Hasn't  he  told  you  why  I  tried  to  run 
away,  and  what  was  the  cause  of  the  fever?  " 

"  No,  dear." 

V— 8 


114  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

"  It  was  because  I  found  Rosalie  in  his  bed." 

The  baroness  thought  she  was  still  delirious,  and  tried 
to  soothe  her. 

"There,  there,  my  darling;  lie  down  and  try  to  go 
to  sleep." 

But  Jeanne  would  not  be  quieted. 

"  I  am  not  talking  nonsense  now,  mamma  dear, 
though  I  dare  say  I  have  been  lately,"  she  said.  "  I 
felt  very  ill  one  night,  and  I  got  up  and  went  to  Julien's 
room ;  there  I  saw  Rosalie  lying  beside  him.  My  grief 
nearly  drove  me  mad,  and  I  ran  out  into  the  snow, 
meaning  to  throw  myself  over  the  cliff." 

"Yes,  darling,  you  have  been  ill;  very  ill  indeed," 
answered  the  baroness. 

"  It  wasn't  that,  mamma.  I  found  Rosalie  in  Juli- 
en's bed,  and  I  will  not  stay  with  him  any  longer.  You 
shall  take  me  back  to  Rouen  with  you." 

The  doctor  had  told  the  baroness  to  let  Jeanne  have 
her  own  way  in  everything,  so  she  answered : 

"  Very  well,  my  pet." 

Jeanne  began  to  lose  patience. 

"  I  see  you  don't  believe  me,"  she  said  pettishly. 
"Go  and  find  papa;  perhaps  he'll  manage  to  under- 
stand that  I  am  speaking  the  truth." 

The  baroness  rose  slowly  to  her  feet,  dragged  herself 
out  of  the  room  with  the  aid  of  two  sticks,  and  came 
back  in  a  few  minutes  with  the  baron.  They  sat  down 
by  the  bedside,  and  Jeanne  began  to  speak  in  her  weak 
voice.  She  spoke  quite  coherently,  and  she  told  them 
all  about  Julien's  odd  ways,  his  harshness,  his  avarice, 
and,  lastly,  his  infidelity. 

The  baron  could  see  that  her  mind  was  not  wander- 


UNE  VIE  115 

Ing,  but  he  hardly  knew  what  to  say  or  think.  He  af- 
fectionately took  her  hand,  like  he  used  to  do  when  she 
was  a  child  and  he  told  her  fairy  tales  to  send  her  to 
sleep, 

"  Listen,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  We  must  not  do  any- 
thing rashly.  Don't  let  us  say  anything  till  we  have 
thought  it  well  over.  Will  you  promise  me  to  try  and 
bear  with  your  husband  until  we  have  decided  what  is 
best  to  be  done?  " 

"Very  well,"  she  answered;  "but  I  will  not  stay 
here  after  I  get  well." 

Then  she  added,  in  a  whisper:  "Where  is  Rosalie 
now : 

"  You  shall  not  see  her  any  more,"  replied  the  baron. 

But  she  persisted:  "Where  is  she?  I  want  to 
know." 

He  owned  that  she  was  still  in  the  house,  but  he  de- 
clared she  should  go  at  once. 

Directly  he  left  Jeanne's  room,  his  heart  full  of  pity 
for  his  child  and  indignation  against  her  husband,  the 
baron  went  to  find  Julien,  and  said  to  him  sternly: 

"  Monsieur,  I  have  come  to  ask  for  an  explanation 
of  your  behavior  to  my  daughter.  You  have  not  only 
been  false  to  her,  but  you  have  deceived  her  with  your 
servant,  which  makes  your  conduct  doubly  infamous." 

Julien  swore  he  was  innocent  of  such  a  thing,  and 
called  heaven  to  witness  his  denial.  What  proof  was 
there?  Jeanne  was  just  recovering  from  brain  fever, 
and  of  course  her  thoughts  were  still  confused.  She 
had  rushed  out  in  the  snow  one  night  at  the  beginning 
of  her  illness,  in  a  fit  of  delirium,  and  how  could  her 
statement  be  believed  when,  on  the  very  night  that  she 


ii6  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

said  she  had  surprised  her  maid  in  her  husband's  bed, 
she  was  dashing  over  the  house  nearly  naked,  and  quite 
unconscious  of  what  she  was  doing! 

Juhen  got  very  angry,  and  threatened  the  baron  with 
an  action  if  he  did  not  withdraw  his  accusation;  and  the 
baron,  confused  by  this  indignant  denial,  began  to  make 
excuses  and  to  beg  his  son-in-law's  pardon;  but  Julien 
refused  to  take  his  outstretched  hand. 

Jeanne  did  not  seem  vexed  when  she  heard  what  her 
husband  had  said. 

"He  is  telling  a  lie,  papa,"  she  said,  quietly;  "but 
we  will  force  him  to  own  the  truth." 

For  two  days  she  lay  silent,  turning  over  all  sorts  of 
things  in  her  mind;  on  the  third  morning  she  asked  for 
Rosalie.  The  baron  refused  to  let  the  maid  go  up  and 
told  Jeanne  that  she  had  left.  But  Jeanne  insisted  on 
seeing  her,  and  said: 

"  Send  someone  to  fetch  her,  then." 

When  the  doctor  came  she  was  very  excited  because 
they  would  not  let  her  see  the  maid,  and  they  told  him 
what  was  the  matter.  Jeanne  burst  into  tears  and  al- 
most shrieked:      "  I  will  see  her!      I  will  see  her!  " 

The  doctor  took  her  hand  and  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"  Calm  yourself,  madame.  Any  violent  emotion 
might  have  very  serious  results  just  now,  for  you  are 
enceinte." 

Jeanne's  tears  ceased  directly;  even  as  the  doctor 
spoke  she  fancied  she  could  feel  a  movement  within 
her,  and  she  lay  still,  paying  no  attention  to  what  was 
being  said  or  done  around  her.  She  could  not  sleep 
that  night ;  it  seemed  so  strange  to  think  that  within 
her  was  another  life,  and  she  felt  sorry  because  it  was 


UNE  VIE  117 

Julien's  child,  and  full  of  fears  in  case  It  should  resem- 
ble its  father. 

The  next  morning  she  sent  for  the  baron. 

"  Papa,  dear,"  she  said,  "  1  have  made  up  my  mind 
to  know  the  whole  truth ;  especially  novv'.  You  hear,  I 
a;'//  know  it,  and  you  know,  you  must  let  me  do  as  I 
like,  because  of  my  condition.  Now  listen;  go  and 
fetch  ]\I,  le  cure ;  he  must  be  here  to  make  Rosalie  tell 
the  truth.  Then,  as  soon  as  he  is  here,  you  must  send 
her  up  to  me,  and  you  and  mamma  must  come  too ;  but, 
whatever  you  do,  don't  let  Julien  know  what  is  go- 
ing on." 

The  priest  came  about  an  hour  afterwards.  He  was 
fatter  than  ever,  and  panted  quite  as  much  as  the  bar- 
oness. He  sat  down  in  an  armchair  and  began  joking, 
while  he  wiped  his  forehead  with  his  checked  handker- 
chief from  sheer  habit. 

"  Well,  Madame  la  baronne,  I  don't  think  we  are 
either  of  us  getting  thinner;  in  my  opinion  we  make  a 
very  handsome  pair."  Then  turning  to  the  invalid,  he 
said:  "  Ah,  ah!  my  young  lady,  I  hear  we're  soon  to 
have  a  christening,  and  that  it  won't  be  the  christening 
of  a  boat  either,  this  time,  ha,  ha,  ha !  "  Then  he  went 
on  in  a  grave  voice,  "  It  will  be  one  more  defender  for 
the  country,  or,"  after  a  short  silence,  "  another  good 
wife  and  mother  like  you,  madame,"  with  a  bow  to  the 
baroness. 

The  door  flew  open  and  there  stood  Rosalie,  crying, 
struggling,  and  refusing  to  move,  while  the  baron  tried 
to  push  her  in.  At  last  he  gave  her  a  sudden  shake, 
and  threw  her  into  the  room  with  a  jerk,  and  she  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  with  her  face  in  her  hands, 


ii8  A  WOiMAN'S  LIFE 

sobbing  violently.  Jeanne  started  up  as  white  as  a 
sheet,  and  her  heart  could  be  seen  beating  under  her 
thin  nightdress.  It  was  some  time  before  she  could 
speak,  but  at  last  she  gasped  out: 

"  There  —  there  —  is  no  —  need  for  m.e  to  —  ques- 
tion you.  Your  confusion  in  my  presence  —  is  —  is 
quite  sufficient  —  proof  —  of  your  guilt." 

She  stopped  for  a  few  moments  for  want  of  breath, 
and  then  went  on  again: 

"  But  I  wish  to  know  all.  You  see  that  M.  le  cure 
is  here,  so  you  understand  you  will  have  to  answer  as  if 
you  were  at  confession." 

Rosalie  had  not  moved  from  where  the  baron  had 
pushed  her;  she  made  no  answer,  but  her  sobs  became 
almost  shrieks.  The  baron,  losing  all  patience  with 
her,  seized  her  hands,  drew  them  roughly  from  her  face 
and  threw  her  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed,  saying: 

"  Why  don't  you  say  something?  Answer  your  mis- 
tress." 

She  crouched  down  on  the  ground  in  the  position  in 
which  Mary  Magdalene  is  generally  depicted;  her  cap 
was  on  one  side,  her  apron  on  the  floor,  and  as  soon  as 
her  hands  were  free  she  again  buried  her  face  in  them. 

"  Come,  come,  my  girl,"  said  the  cure,  *'  we  don't 
want  to  do  you  any  harm,  but  we  must  know  exactly 
what  has  happened.  Now  listen  to  what  is  asked  you 
and  answer  truthfully." 

Jeanne  was  leaning  over  the  side  of  the  bed,  looking 
at  the  girl. 

"  Is  it  not  true  that  I  found  you  in  Julien's  bed?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  madame,"  moaned  out  Rosalie  through  her 
fingers. 


UNE  VIE  119 

At  that  the  baroness  burst  into  tears  also,  and  the 
•sound  of  her  sobs  mingled  with  the  maid's. 

"  How  long  had  that  gone  on?"  asked  Jeanne,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  maid. 

"  Ever  since  he  came  here,"  stammered  Rosalie, 

"  Since  he  came  here,"  repeated  Jeanne,  hardly  un- 
derstanding what  the  words  meant.  "  Do  you  mean 
since  —  since  the  spring?  " 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  Since  he  first  came  to  the  house?  " 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  But  how  did  it  happen?  How  did  he  come  to  say 
anything  to  you  about  it?  "  burst  out  Jeanne,  as  if  she 
could  keep  back  the  questions  no  longer.  "  Did  he 
force  you,  or  did  you  give  yourself  to  him?  How 
could  you  do  such  a  thing?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Rosalie,  taking  her  hands 
from  her  face  and  speaking  as  if  the  words  were  forced 
from  her  by  an  irresistible  desire  to  talk  and  to  tell  all. 
"  The  day  he  dined  'ere  for  the  first  time,  'e  came  up 
to  my  room.  He  'ad  'idden  in  the  garret  and  I  dursn't 
cry  out  for  fear  of  what  everyone  would  say.  He  got 
into  my  bed,  and  I  dunno'  how  it  was  or  what  I  did, 
but  he  did  just  as  'e  liked  with  me.  I  never  said  nothin' 
about  it  because  I  thought  he  was  nice." 

"  But  your  —  your  child?     Is  it  his?  "  cried  Jeanne. 

"  Yes,  madame,"  answered  Rosalie,  between  her 
sobs.  Then  neither  said  anything  more,  and  the  silence 
was  only  broken  by  the  baroness's  and  Rosalie's  sobs. 

The  tears  rose  to  Jeanne's  eyes,  and  fldnved  noise- 
lessly down  her  cheeks.  So  her  maid's  child  had  the 
same  father  as  her  own !  All  her  anger  had  evapo- 
rated and  in  its  place  was  a  dull,  gloomy,  deep  despair. 


120  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

After  a  short  silence  she  said  in  a  softer,  tearful  voice. 

"  After  we  returned  from  —  from  our  wedding 
tour  —  when  did  he  begin  again?  " 

"The  —  the  night  you  came  back,"  answered  the 
maid,  who  was  now  almost  lying  on  the  floor. 

Each  word  rung  Jeanne's  heart.  He  had  actually 
left  her  for  this  girl  the  very  night  of  their  return  to 
Les  Peuples!  That,  then,  was  why  he  had  let  her 
sleep  alone.  She  had  heard  enough  now;  she  did  not 
want  to  know  anything  more,  and  she  cried  to  the  girl: 

"  Go  away!  go  away!  " 

As  Rosalie,  overcome  by  her  emotion,  did  not  move, 
she  called  to  her  father: 

"  Take  her  away !      Carry  her  out  of  the  room  !  " 

But  the  cure,  who  had  said  nothing  up  to  now, 
thought  the  time  had  come  for  a  little  discourse. 

"  You  have  behaved  very  wickedly,"  he  said  to  Rosa- 
lie, "  very  wickedly  indeed,  and  the  good  God  will  not 
easily  forgive  you.  Think  of  the  punishment  which 
awaits  you  if  you  do  not  live  a  better  life  henceforth. 
Now  you  are  young  is  the  time  to  train  yourself  in  good 
ways.  No  doubt  Madame  la  baronne  will  do  some- 
thing for  you,  and  we  shall  be  able  to  find  you  a  hus- 
band — " 

He  would  have  gone  on  like  this  for  a  long  time  had 
not  the  baron  seized  Rosalie  by  the  shoulders,  dragged 
her  to  the  door  and  thrown  her  Into  the  passage  like  a 
bundle  of  clothes. 

When  he  came  back,  looking  whiter  even  than  his 
daughter,  the  cure  began  again : 

"  Well,  you  know,  all  the  girls  round  here  are  the 
same.  It  Is  a  very  bad  state  of  things,  but  it  can't  be 
helped,  and  we  must  make  a  little  allowance  for  the 


UNE  VIE  121 

weakness  of  human  nature.  They  never  marry  until 
they  are  enceintes;  never,  madame.  One  might  almost 
call  it  a  local  custom,"  he  added,  with  a  smile.  Then 
he  went  on  indignantly:  "Even  the  children  are  the 
same.  Only  last  year  I  found  a  little  boy  and  girl 
from  my  class  in  the  cemetery  together.  I  told  their 
parents,  and  what  do  you  think  they  replied :  '  Well, 
M'sieu  I'cure,  we  didn't  teach  it  them;  we  can't  help 
it.'  So  you  see,  monsieur,  your  maid  has  only  done  like 
the  others  — " 

"  The  maid !  "  Interrupted  the  baron,  trembling  with 
excitement.  "The  maid!  What  do  I  care  about  her? 
It's  Julien's  conduct  which  I  think  so  abominable,  and  I 
shall  certainly  take  my  daughter  away  with  me."  He 
walked  up  and  down  the  room,  getting  more  and  more 
angry  with  every  step  he  took.  "  It  is  infamous  the 
way  he  has  deceived  my  daughter,  infamous !  He's  a 
wretch,  a  villain,  and  I  will  tell  him  so  to  his  face.  I'll 
horsewhip  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life." 

The  cure  was  slowly  enjoying  a  pinch  of  snuff  as  he 
sat  beside  the  baroness,  and  thinking  how  he  could  make 
peace.  "  Come  now,  M.  le  baron,  between  ourselves 
he  has  only  done  like  everyone  else.  I  am  quite  sure 
you  don't  know  many  husbands  who  are  faithful  to  their 
wives,  do  you  now?  "  And  he  added  in  a  sly,  good- 
natured  way:  "  I  bet  you,  yourself,  have  played  your 
little  games ;  you  can't  say  conscientiously  that  you 
haven't,  I  know.  Why,  of  course  you  have !  And 
who  knows  but  what  you  have  made  the  acquaintance 
of  some  little  maid  just  like  Rosalie.  I  tell  you  every 
man  is  the  same.  And  your  escapades  didn't  make  your 
wife  unhappy,  or  lessen  your  affection  for  her;  did 
thev?" 


122  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

The  baron  stood  still  in  confusion.  It  was  true  that 
he  had  done  the  same  himself,  and  not  only  once  or 
twice,  but  as  often  as  he  had  got  the  chance;  his  wife's 
presence  in  the  house  had  never  made  any  difference, 
when  the  servants  were  pretty.  And  was  he  a  villain 
because  of  that?  Then  why  should  he  judge  Julien's 
conduct  so  severely  when  he  had  never  thought  that 
any  fault  could  be  found  with  his  own  ? 

Though  her  tears  were  hardly  dried,  the  Idea  of  her 
husband's  pranks  brought  a  slight  smile  to  the  baron- 
ess's lip,  for  she  was  one  of  those  good-natured,  tender- 
hearted, sentimental  women  to  whom  love  adventures 
are  an  essential  part  of  existence.   , 

Jeanne  lay  back  exhausted,  thinking,  with  open  un- 
seeing eyes,  of  all  this  painful  episode.  The  expres- 
sion that  had  wounded  her  most  in  Rosalie's  confession 
was:  "I  never  said  anything  about  It  because  I 
thought  he  was  nice."  She,  his  wife,  had  also  thought 
him  "  nice,"  and  that  was  the  sole  reason  why  she  had 
united  herself  to  him  for  life,  had  given  up  every  other 
hope,  every  other  project  to  join  her  destiny  to  his. 
She  had  plunged  into  marriage.  Into  this  pit  from  which 
there  was  no  escape,  Into  all  this  misery,  this  grief,  this 
despair,  simply  because,  like  Rosalie,  she  had  thought 
him  "  nice." 

The  door  was  flung  violently  open  and  Jullen  came 
in,  looking  perfectly  wild  with  rage.  He  had  seen 
Rosalie  moaning  on  the  landing,  and  guessing  that  she 
had  been  forced  to  speak,  he  had  come  to  see  what  was 
going  on;  but  at  the  sight  of  the  priest  he  was 
taken  thoroughly  aback. 

"  What  is  it?     What  is  the  matter?  "  he  asked.  In  a 


UNE  VIE  123 

voice  which  trembled  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  make  it 
sound  calm. 

The  baron,  who  had  been  so  violent  just  before,  dared 
say  nothing  after  the  cure's  argument,  in  case  his  son- 
in-lav>'  should  quote  his  own  example;  the  baroness  only 
wept  more  bitterly  than  before,  and  Jeanne  raised  her- 
self on  her  hands  and  looked  steadily  at  this  man  who 
was  causing  her  so  much  sorrow.  Her  breath  came 
and  went  quickly,  but  she  managed  to  answer: 

''  The  matter  is  that  we  know  all  about  your  shame- 
ful conduct  ever  since  —  ever  since  the  day  you  first 
came  here ;  we  know  that  —  that  —  Rosalie's  child  is 
yours  —  like  —  like  mine,  and  that  they  will  be  — 
brothers." 

Her  grief  became  so  poignant  at  this  thought  that  she 
hid  herself  under  the  bedclothes  and  sobbed  bitterly. 
Julien  stood  open-mouthed,  not  knowing  what  to  say  or 
do.      The  cure  again  interposed. 

"  Come,  come,  my  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "  you 
mustn't  give  way  like  that.      See  now,  be  reasonable." 

He  rose,  went  to  the  bedside,  and  laid  his  cool  hand 
on  this  despairing  woman's  forehead.  His  simple 
touch  seemed  to  soothe  her  wonderfully;  she  felt  calmer 
at  once,  as  if  the  large  hand  of  this  country  priest,  ac- 
customed to  gestures  of  absolution  and  sympathy,  had 
borne  with  it  some  strange,  peace-giving  power. 

"  Madame,  we  must  always  forgive,"  said  the  good- 
natured  priest.  "  You  are  borne  down  by  a  great 
grief,  but  God,  in  His  mercy,  has  also  sent  you  a  great 
joy,  since  He  has  permitted  you  to  have  hopes  of  be- 
coming a  mother.  This  child  will  console  you  for  all 
your  trouble  and  It  Is  in  its  name  that  I  implore,  that 


124  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

I  adjure,  you  to  forgive  M.  Julien.  It  will  be  a 
fresh  tie  between  you,  a  pledge  of  your  husband's 
future  fidelity.  Can  you  steel  your  heart  against  the 
father  of  your  unborn  child?  " 

Too  weak  to  feel  either  anger  or  resentment,  and 
only  conscious  of  a  crushed,  aching,  exhausted  sensation, 
she  made  no  answer.  Her  nerves  were  thoroughly 
unstrung,  and  she  clung  to  life  but  by  a  very  slender 
thread. 

The  baroness,  to  whom  resentment  seemed  utterly 
Impossible  and  whose  mind  was  simply  incapable  of 
bearing  any  prolonged  strain,  said  in  a  low  tone : 

"  Come,  Jeanne!  " 

The  cure  drew  Julien  close  to  the  bed  and  placed 
his  hand  in  his  wife's,  giving  it  a  little  tap  as  if  to 
make  the  union  more  complete.  Then,  dropping  his 
professional  pulpit  tone,  he  said,  with  a  satisfied  air : 

"  There!  that's  done.     Believe  me,  it  is  better  so." 

The  two  hands,  united  thus  for  an  instant,  loosed 
their  clasp  directly.  Julien,  not  daring  to  embrace 
Jeanne,  kissed  his  mother-in-law,  then  turned  on  his 
heel,  took  the  baron  (who.  In  his  heart,  was  not  sorry 
that  everything  had  finished  so  quietly)  by  the  arm, 
and  drew  him  from  the  room  to  go  and  smoke  a  cigar. 

Then  the  tired  Invalid  went  to  sleep  and  the  baroness 
and  the  priest  began  to  chat  In  low  tones.  The  abbe 
talked  of  what  had  just  occurred  and  proceeded  to 
explain  his  ideas  on  the  subject,  while  the  baroness 
assented  to  everything  he  said  with  a  nod. 

"  Very  well,  then,  it's  understood,"  he  said,  In  con- 
clusion. "  You  give  the  girl  the  farm  at  Barvllle  and 
I  will  undertake  to  find  her  a  good,  honest  husband. 
Oh,  you  may  be  sure  that  with  twenty  thousand  francs 


UNE  VIE  ■  125 

we  shall  not  want  candidates  for  her  hand.  We  shall 
have  an  emharras  de  choix.^^ 

The  baroness  was  smiling  happily  now,  though  two 
tears  still  lingered  on  her  cheeks. 

"  Barville  is  worth  twenty  thousand  francs,  at  the 
very  least,"  she  said;  "and  you  understand  that  it  is 
to  be  settled  on  the  child  though  the  parents  will  have 
it  as  long  as  they  live." 

Then  the  cure  shook  hands  w'ith  the  baroness,  and 
rose  to  go. 

"  Don't  get  up,  Madame  la  baronne,  don't  get  up," 
he  exclaimed.  ''  I  know  the  value  of  a  step  too  well 
myself." 

As  he  went  out  he  met  Aunt  Lison  coming  to  see  her 
patient.  She  did  not  notice  that  anything  extraordi- 
nary had  happened.  No  one  had  told  her  anything, 
and,  as  usual,  she  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  what 
was  going  on. 

VIII 

Rosalie  had  left  the  house  and  the  time  of 
Jeanne's  confinement  was  drawing  near.  The  sorrow 
she  had  gone  through  had  taken  away  all  pleasure  from 
the  thought  of  becoming  a  mother,  and  she  waited  for 
the  child's  birth  without  any  impatience  or  curiosity, 
her  mind  entirely  filled  with  her  presentiment  of  coming 
evils. 

Spring  was  close  at  hand.  The  bare  trees  still 
trembled  in  the  cold  wind,  but,  in  the  damp  ditches, 
the  yellow  primroses  were  already  blossoming  among  the 
decaying  autumn  leaves.  The  rain-soaked  fields,  the 
farm-yards  and  the  commons  exhaled  a  damp  odor,  as 


126  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

of  fermenting  liquor,  and  little  green  leaves  peeped 
out  of  the  brown  earth  and  glistened  in  the  sun. 

A  big,  strongly-built  woman  had  been  engaged  in 
Rosalie's  place,  and  she  now  supported  the  baroness 
in  her  dreary  walks  along  the  avenue,  where  the  traclc 
made  by  her  foot  was  always  damp  and  muddy. 

Jeanne,  low-spirited  and  in  constant  pain,  leant 
on  her  father's  arm  when  she  went  out,  while  on  her 
other  side  walked  Aunt  Lison,  holding  her  niece's 
hand,  and  thinking  nervously,  of  this  mysterious  suffer- 
ing that  she  would  never  know.  They  would  all  three 
walk  for  hours  without  speaking  a  word,  and,  while 
they  were  out,  Julien  went  all  over  the  country  on 
horseback,  for  he  had  suddenly  become  very  fond  of 
riding. 

The  baron,  his  wife,  and  the  vicomte,  paid  a  visit 
to  the  Fourvilles  (whom  Julien  seemed  to  know  very 
well,  though  no  one  at  the  chateau  knew  exactly  how 
the  acquaintance  had  begun),  and  another  duty  call 
was  paid  to  the  Brisevilles,  and  those  two  visits  were 
the  only  break  in  their  dull,  monotonous  life. 

One  afternoon,  about  four  o'clock,  two  people  on 
horseback  trotted  up  to  the  chateau.  Julien  rushed 
into  his  wife's  room  in  great  excitement: 

"  Make  haste  and  go  down,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Here 
are  the  Fourvilles.  They  have  come  simply  to  make 
a  neighborly  call  as  they  know  the  condition  you  are 
in.  Say  I  am  out  but  that  I  shall  be  in  soon.  I  am 
just  going  to  change  my  coat." 

Jeanne  went  downstairs  and  found  in  the  drawing- 
room  a  gigantic  man  with  big,  red  moustaches,  and  a 
pale,  pretty  woman  with  a  sad-looking  face,  sentimental 
eyes  and  hair  of  a  dead  gold  that  looked  as  if  the  sua 


UNE  VIE  127 

had  never  caressed  It,  When  the  fair-haired  woman 
had  introduced  the  big  man  as  her  husband,  she 
said: 

"  M.  de  Lamare,  whom  we  have  met  several  times, 
has  told  us  how  unwell  you  are,  so  we  thought  we 
would  not  put  off  coming  to  see  you  any  longer.  You 
see  we  have  come  on  horseback,  so  you  must  look  upon 
this  simply  as  a  neighborly  call;  besides,  I  have  already 
had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  a  visit  from  your  mother 
and  the  baron." 

She  spoke  easily  in  a  refined,  familiar  way,  and 
Jeanne  fell  in  love  with  her  at  once.  "  In  her  I  might, 
indeed,  find  a  friend,"  she  thought. 

The  Comte  de  Fourville,  unlike  his  wife,  seemed  as 
much  out  of  place  in  a  drawing-room  as  a  bull  in  a 
china  shop.  When  he  sat  down  he  put  his  hat  on  a 
chair  close  by  him,  and  then  the  problem  of  what  he 
should  do  with  his  hands  presented  itself  to  him.  First 
he  rested  them  on  his  knees,  then  on  the  arms  of  his 
chair,  and  finally  joined  them  as  if  in  prayer. 

Julien  came  in  so  changed  in  appearance  that  Jeanne 
stared  at  him  in  mute  surprise.  He  had  shaved  him- 
self and  looked  as  handsome  and  charming  as  when 
he  was  wooing  her.  His  hair,  just  now  so  coarse  and 
dull,  had  been  brushed  and  sprinkled  with  perfumed 
oil  till  it  had  recovered  its  soft  shining  waves,  and  his 
large  eyes,  which  seemed  made  to  express  nothing  but 
love,  had  their  old  winning  look  in  them.  He  made 
himself  as  amiable  and  fascinating  as  he  had  been 
before  his  marriage.  He  pressed  the  hairy  paw  of  the 
comte,  who  seemed  much  relieved  by  his  presence,  and 
kissed  the  hand  of  the  comtesse,  whose  ivory  cheek 
became  just  tinged  with  pink. 


128  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

When  the  Fourvilles  were  going  away  the  comtesse 
said: 

"  Will  you  come  for  a  ride  on  Thursday,  vicomte?  " 
And  as  Julien  bowed  and  replied,  "  I  shall  be  very 
pleased,  madame,"  she  turned  and  took  Jeanne's  hand, 
saying  to  her,  affectionately : 

"  When  you  are  well  again  we  must  all  three  go 
for  long  rides  together.  We  could  make  such  delight- 
ful excursions  if  you  would." 

Then  she  gracefully  caught  up  the  skirt  of  her  riding- 
habit  and  sprang  into  the  saddle  as  lightly  as  a  bird, 
and  her  husband,  after  awkwardly  raising  his  hat, 
leapt  on  his  huge  horse,  feeling  and  looking  at  his  ease 
as  soon  as  he  was  mounted. 

"  What  charming  people!  "  cried  Julien,  as  soon  as 
they  were  out  of  sight.  "  We  may,  indeed,  think  our- 
selves lucky  to  have  made  their  acquaintance." 

"  The  little  comtesse  is  delightful,"  answered 
Jeanne,  feeling  pleased  herself  though  she  hardly  knew 
why.  "  I  am  sure  I  shall  like  her;  but  the  husband 
seems  a  bear.     How  did  you  get  to  know  them  ?  " 

"  I  met  them  one  day  at  the  Brisevilles,"  he  replied, 
rubbing  his  hands  together  cheerfully.  "  The  husband 
certainly  is  a  little  rough,  but  he  is  a  true  gentleman. 
He  is  passionately  fond  of  shooting." 

Nothing  else  happened  until  the  end  of  July.  Then, 
one  Tuesday  evening,  as  they  were  all  sitting  under 
the  plane-tree  beside  a  little  table,  on  which  stood 
two  liqueur  glasses  and  a  decanter  of  brandy,  Jeanne 
suddenly  turned  very  white  and  put  both  her  hands  to 
her  side  with  a  cry.  A  sharp  pain  had  shot  through 
her  and  at  once  died  away.  In  about  ten  minutes  came 
another  one,  hardly  so  severe  but  of  longer  duration 


UNE  VIE  129 

than  the  first.  Her  father  and  husband  almost  carried 
her  indoors,  for  the  short  distance  between  the  plane- 
tree  and  her  room  seemed  miles  to  her;  she  could  not 
stifle  her  moans,  and,  overpowered  by  an  intolerable 
sense  of  heaviness  and  weight,  she  implored  them  to  let 
her  sit  down  and  rest. 

The  child  was  not  expected  until  September  but,  in 
case  of  accident,  a  horse  was  harnessed  and  old  Simon 
galloped  oft  after  the  doctor.  He  came  about  mid- 
night and  at  once  recognized  the  signs  of  a  premature 
confinement.  The  actual  pain  had  a  little  diminished, 
but  Jeanne  felt  an  awful  deathly  faintness,  and  she 
thought  she  was  going  to  die,  for  Death  is  sometimes 
so  close  that  his  icy  breath  can  almost  be  felt. 

The  room  was  full  of  people.  The  baroness  lay 
back  in  an  armchair  gasping  for  breath;  the  baron 
ran  hither  and  thither,  bringing  all  manner  of  things 
and  completely  losing  his  head;  Julien  walked  up  and 
down  looking  very  troubled,  but  really  feeling  quite 
calm,  and  the  Widow  Dentu,  whom  nothing  could 
surprise  or  startle,  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  with 
an  expression  suited  to  the  occasion  on  her  face. 

Nurse,  mid-wife  and  watcher  of  the  dead,  equally 
ready  to  welcome  the  new-born  infant,  to  receive  its 
first  cry,  to  immerse  it  in  its  first  bath  and  to  wrap 
it  in  its  first  covering,  or  to  hear  the  last  word,  the  last 
death-rattle,  the  last  moan  of  the  dying,  to  clothe  them 
in  their  last  garment,  to  sponge  their  wasted  bodies,  to 
draw  the  sheet  about  their  still  faces,  the  Widow  Dentu 
had  become  utterly  indifferent  to  any  of  the  chances 
accompanying  a  birth  or  a  death. 

Every  now  and  then  Jeanne  gave  a  low  moan.      For 

two  hours  It  seemed  as  if  the  child  would  not  be  born 
V— ff 


I30  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

yet,  after  all;  but  about  daybreak  the  pains  recom- 
menced and  soon  became  almost  intolerable.  As  the 
involuntary  cries  of  anguish  burst  through  her  clenched 
teeth,  Jeanne  thought  of  Rosalie  who  had  hardly  even 
moaned,  and  whose  bastard  child  had  been  born  with- 
out any  of  the  torture  such  as  she  was  suffering.  In 
her  wretched,  troubled  mind  she  drew  comparisons 
between  her  maid  and  herself,  and  she  cursed  God 
Whom,  until  now,  she  had  believed  just.  She  thought 
in  angry  astonishment  of  how  fate  favors  the  wicked, 
and  of  the  unpardonable  lies  of  those  who  hold  forth 
inducements  to  be  upright  and  good. 

Sometimes  the  agony  was  so  great  that  she  could 
think  of  nothing  else,  her  suffering  absorbing  all  her 
strength,  her  reason,  her  consiousness.  In  the  intervals 
of  relief  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  Julien,  and  then  she 
was  filled  with  a  mental  anguish  as  she  thought  of  the 
day  her  maid  had  fallen  at  the  foot  of  this  very  bed 
with  her  new-born  child  —  the  brother  of  the  infant 
that  was  now  causing  her  such  terrible  pain.  She 
remembered  perfectly  every  gesture,  every  look,  every 
word  of  her  husband  as  he  stood  beside  the  maid, 
and  now  she  could  see  in  his  movements  the  same  ennui, 
the  same  indifference  for  her  suffering  as  he  had  felt 
for  Rosalie's;  it  was  the  selfish  carelessness  of  a  man 
whom  the  idea  of  paternity  irritates. 

She  was  seized  by  an  excruciating  pain,  a  spasm  so 
agonizing  that  she  thought,  "I  am  going  to  die!  I 
am  dying!  "  And  her  soul  was  filled  with  a  furious 
hatred;  she  felt  she  must  curse  this  man  who  was  the 
cause  of  all  her  agony,  and  this  child  which  was  killing 
her.  She  strained  every  muscle  in  a  supreme  effort  to 
rid  herself  of  this  awful  burden,  and  then  it  felt  as  if 


UNE  VIE  131 

her  whole  inside  were  pouring  away  from  her,  and 
her  suffering  suddenly  became  less. 

The  nurse  and  the  doctor  bent  over  her  and  took 
something  away;  and  she  heard  the  choking  noise  she 
had  heard  once  before,  and  then  the  low  cry  of  pain, 
the  feeble  whine  of  the  new-born  child  filled  her  ears 
and  seemed  to  enter  her  poor,  exhausted  body  till  it 
reached  her  very  soul;  and,  in  an  unconsciousness  move- 
ment she  tried  to  hold  out  her  arms. 

With  the  child  was  born  a  new  joy,  a  fresh  rapture. 
In  one  second  she  had  been  delivered  from  that  ter- 
rible pain  and  made  happier  than  she  had  ever  been 
before,  and  she  revived  in  mind  and  body  as  she 
realized,  for  the  first  time,  the  pleasure  of  being  a 
mother. 

She  wanted  to  see  her  child.  It  had  not  any  hair 
or  nails,  for  it  had  come  before  its  time,  but  when  she 
saw.  this  human  larva  move  its  limbs  and  open  its 
mouth,  and  when  she  touched  Its  wrinkled  little  face, 
her  heart  overflowed  with  happiness,  and  she  knew 
that  she  would  never  feel  weary  of  life  again,  for  her 
love  for  the  atom  she  held  in  her  arms  would  be  so 
absorbing  that  it  would  make  her  indifferent  to  every- 
thing else. 

From  that  time  her  child  was  her  chief,  her  only 
care,  and  she  idolized  it  more,  perhaps,  because  she 
had  been  so  deceived  in  her  love  and  disappointed  in 
her  hopes.  She  insisted  on  having  the  cot  close  to 
her  bed,  and,  when  she  could  get  up,  she  sat  by  the 
window  the  whole  day  rocking  the  cradle  with  her  foot. 
She  was  even  jealous  of  the  wet-nurse,  and  when  the 
hungry  baby  held  out  its  arms  and  mouth  towards  the 
big  blue-veined  breast,  she  felt  as  if  she  would  like  to 


132  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

tear  her  son  from  this  strong,  quiet  peasant  woman's 
arms,  and  strike  and  scratch  the  bosom  to  which  he 
clung  so  eagerly. 

She  embroidered  his  fine  robes  herself,  putting  into 
them  the  most  elaborate  work;  he  was  always  sur- 
rounded by  a  cloud  of  lace  and  wore  the  handsomest 
caps.  The  only  thing  she  could  talk  about  was  the 
baby's  clothes,  and  she  was  always  interrupting  a  con- 
versation to  hold  up  a  band,  or  bib,  or  some  especially 
pretty  ribbon  for  admiration,  for  she  took  no  notice  of 
what  was  being  said  around  her  as  she  turned  and 
twisted  some  tiny  garment  about  in  her  hands,  and 
held  it  up  to  the  light  to  see  better  how  it  looked. 

"  Don't  you  think  he  will  look  lovely  in  that?  "  she 
was  always  asking,  and  her  mother  and  the  baron 
smiled  at  this  all-absorbing  affection;  but  Julien  would 
exclaim,  impatiently,  "  What  a  nuisance  she  is  with 
that  brat!"  for  his  habits  had  been  upset  and  his 
overweening  importance  diminished  by  the  arrival  of 
this  noisy,  imperious  tyrant,  and  he  was  half-jealous 
of  the  scrap  of  humanity  who  now  held  the  first  place 
in  the  house.  Jeanne  could  hardly  bear  to  be  away 
from  her  baby  for  an  instant,  and  she  even  sat  watch- 
ing him  all  night  through  as  he  lay  sleeping  in  his 
cradle.  These  vigils  and  this  continual  anxiety  began 
to  tell  upon  her  health.  The  want  of  sleep  weakened 
her  and  she  grew  thinner  and  thinner,  until,  at  last,  the 
doctor  ordered  the  child  to  be  separated  from  her. 

It  was  in  vain  that  she  employed  tears,  commands 
and  entreaties.  Each  night  the  baby  slept  with  his 
nurse,  and  each  night  his  mother  rose  from  her  bed 
and  went,  barefooted,  to  put  her  ear  to  the  keyhole 
and   listen   if  he   was   sleeping   quietly.     Julien    found 


UNE  VIE  133 

her  there  one  night  as  he  was  coming  in  late  from  din- 
ning at  the  Fourvilles,  and  after  that  she  was  locked  into 
her  room  every  evening  to  compel  her  to  stay  in  bed. 

The  child  was  to  be  named  Pierre  Simon  Paul  (they 
were  going  to  call  him  Paul)  and  at  the  end  of  August 
he  was  christened,  the  baron  being  godfather,  and  Aunt 
Lison  godmother.  At  the  beginning  of  September 
Aunt  Lison  went  away,  and  her  absence  was  as  un- 
noticed as  her  presence  had  been. 

One  evening,  after  dinner,  the  cure  called  at  the 
chateau.  There  seemed  an  air  of  mystery  about  him, 
and,  after  a  few  commonplace  remarks,  he  asked  the 
baron  and  baroness  if  he  could  speak  to  them  in  pri- 
vate for  a  few  moments.  They  all  three  walked 
slowly  down  the  avenue  talking  eagerly  as  they  went, 
while  Julien,  feeling  uneasy  and  Irritated  at  this  secrecy, 
was  left  behind  with  Jeanne.  He  offered  to  accompany 
the  priest  when  he  went  away,  and  they  walked  off 
towards  the  church  where  the  angelus  was  ringing.  It 
was  a  cool,  almost  cold,  evening,  and  the  others  soon 
went-  into  the  house.  They  were  all  beginning  to  feel 
a  little  drowsy  when  the  drawing-room  door  was  sud- 
denly thrown  open  and  Julien  came  in  looking  very 
vexed.  Without  stopping  to  see  whether  Jeanne  was 
there  or  not,  he  cried  to  the  baron,  as  soon  as  he 
entered  the  room : 

"  Upon  my  soul  you  must  be  mad  to  go  and  give 
twenty  thousand  francs  to  that  girl !  " 

They  were  all  taken  too  much  by  surprise  to  make 
any  answer,  and  he  went  on,  too  angry  to  speak  dis- 
tinctly: "  I  can't  understand  how  you  can  be  such 
fools !  But  there  I  suppose  you  will  keep  on  till  we 
haven't  a  sou  left !  " 


134  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

The  baron,  recovering  himself,  a  little,  tried  to  check 
his  son-in-law  : 

"Be  quiet!"  he  exclaimed.  "Don't  you  see  that 
your  wife  is  in  the  room  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  if  she  is,"  answered  Jullen,  stamping 
his  foot.  "  Besides,  she  ought  to  know  about  it.  It 
is  depriving  her  of  her  rightful  inheritance." 

Jeanne  had  listened  to  her  husband  in  amazement, 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  know  what  It  was  all  about : 

"  Whatever  Is  the  matter?  "  she  asked. 

Then  Julien  turned  to  her,  expecting  her  to  side  with 
him,  as  the  loss  of  the  money  would  affect  her  also. 
He  told  her  in  a  few  words  how  her  parents  were 
trying  to  arrange  a  marriage  for  Rosalie,  and  how  the 
maid's  child  was  to  have  the  farm  at  Barville,  which 
was  worth  twenty  thousand  francs  at  the  very  least. 
And  he  kept  on  repeating : 

"  Your  parents  must  be  mad,  my  dear,  raving  mad! 
Twenty  thousand  francs !  Twenty  thousand  francs ! 
They  can't  be  in  their  right  senses !  Twenty  thousand 
francs  for  a  bastard  !  " 

Jeanne  listened  to  him  quite  calmly,  astonished  her- 
self to  find  that  she  felt  neither  anger  nor  sorrow  at 
his  meanness,  but  she  was  perfectly  indifferent  now  to 
everything  which  did  not  concern  her  child.  The 
baron  was  choking  with  anger,  and  at  last  he  burst  out, 
with  a  stamp  of  the  foot : 

"  Really,  this  Is  too  much!  Whose  fault  is  it  that 
this  girl  has  to  have  a  dowry?  You  seem  to  forget 
who  Is  her  child's  father;  but,  no  doubt,  you  would 
abandon  her  altogether  if  you  had  your  way !  " 

Julien  gazed  at  the  baron  for  a  few  moments  In 
silent  surprise.     Then  he  went  on  more  quietly : 


UNE  VIE  135 

*'  But  fifteen  hundred  francs  would  have  been  ample 
to  give  her.  All  the  peasant-girls  about  here  have 
children  before  they  marry,  so  what  does  It  matter  who 
they  have  them  by?  And  then,  setting  aside  the  In- 
justice you  will  be  doing  Jeanne  and  me,  you  forget 
that  if  you  give  Rosalie  a  farm  worth  twenty  thousand 
francs  everybody  will  see  at  once  that  there  must  be  a 
reason  for  such  a  gift.  You  should  think  a  little  of 
what  Is  due  to  our  name  and  position." 

He  spoke  in  a  calm,  cool  way  as  if  he  were  sure  of 
his  logic  and  the  strength  of  his  argument.  The  baron, 
disconcerted  by  this  fresh  view  of  the  matter,  could 
find  nothing  to  say  in  reply,  and  Jullen,  feeling  his  ad- 
vantage, added : 

"  But  fortunately,  nothing  Is  settled.  I  know  the 
man  who  Is  going  to  marry  her  and  he  Is  an  honest 
fellow  with  whom  everything  can  yet  be  satisfactorily 
arranged.      I  will  see  to  the  miatter  myself." 

With  that  he  went  out  of  the  room,  wishing  to  avoid 
any  further  discussion,  and  taking  the  silence  with 
which  his  words  were  received  to  mean  acquiescence. 

As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  after  his  son-in-law, 
the  baron  exclaimed: 

"  Oh,  this  is  more  than  I  can  stand!  " 

Jeanne,  catching  sight  of  her  father's  horrified  ex- 
pression, burst  Into  a  clear  laugh  which  rang  out  as  It 
used  to  do  whenever  she  had  seen  something  very  funny : 

"  Papa,  papa  !  "  she  cried.  "  Did  you  hear  the  tone 
In  which  he  said  '  twenty  thousand  francs!  '  " 

The  baroness,  whose  smiles  lay  as  near  the  surface 
as  her  tears,  quivered  with  laughter  as  she  saw  Jeanne's 
gayety,  and  thought  of  her  son-in-law's  furious  face, 
and  his  indignant  exclamations  and  determined  attempt 


136  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

to  prevent  this  money,  which  was  not  his,  being  given 
to  the  girl  he  had  seduced.  Finally  the  baron  caught 
the  contagion  and  they  all  three  laughed  till  they  ached 
as  in  the  happy  days  of  old.  When  they  were  a  little 
calmer,  Jeanne  said: 

"  It  is  very  funny,  but  really  I  don't  seem  to  mind 
in  the  least  what  he  says  or  does  now.  I  look  upon 
him  quite  as  a  stranger,  and  I  can  hardly  believe  1  am 
his  wife.  You  see  I  am  able  to  laugh  at  his  —  his  want 
of  delicacy." 

And  the  parents  and  child  involuntarily  kissed  each 
other,  with  smiles  on  their  lips,  though  the  tears  were 
not  very  far  from  their  eyes. 

Two  days  after  this  scene,  when  Julien  had  gone  out 
for  a  ride,  a  tall,  young  fellow  of  about  four  or  iive-and- 
twenty,  dressed  in  a  brand-new  blue  blouse,  which  hung 
in  stiff  folds,  climbed  stealthily  over  the  fence,  as  if  he 
had  been  hiding  there  all  the  morning,  crept  along  the 
Couillards'  ditch,  and  went  round  to  the  other  side  of 
the  chateau  where  Jeanne  and  her  father  and  mother 
were  sitting  under  the  plane-tree.  He  took  oft  his  cap 
and  awkwardly  bowed  as  he  came  towards  them,  and, 
when  he  was  within  speaking  distance,  mumbled : 

"  Your  servant,  monsieur  le  baron,  madame  and 
company."  Then,  as  no  one  said  anything  to  him  he 
introduced  himself  as  "  Desire  Lecoq." 

This  name  failing  to  explain  his  presence  at  the 
chateau,  the  baron  asked: 

"  What  do  you  want?  " 

The  peasant  was  very  disconcerted  when  he  found 
he  had  to  state  his  business.  He  hesitated,  stammered, 
cast  his  eyes  from  the  cap  he  held  in  his  hands  to  the 
chateau  roof  and  back  again,  and  at  last  began: 


UNE  VIE  137 

**  M'sieu  I'cure  has  said  somethin'  to  me  about  this 
business  — "  then,  fearing  to  say  too  much  and  thus 
injure  his  own  interests,  he  stopped  short. 

"What  business?"  asked  the  baron.  "I  don't 
know  what  you  mean," 

"  About  your  maid  —  what's  her  name  —  Rosalie," 
said  the  man  in  a  low  voice. 

Jeanne,  guessing  what  he  had  come  about,  got  up 
and  went  away  with  her  child  in  her  arms. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  baron,  pointing  to  the  chair 
his  daughter  had  just  left. 

The  peasant  took  the  seat  with  a  "  Thank  you, 
kindly,"  and  then  waited  as  if  he  had  nothing  whatever 
to  say.  After  a  few  moments,  during  which  no  one 
spoke,  he  thought  he  had  better  say  something,  so  he 
looked  up  to  the  blue  sky  and  remarked: 

"  What  fine  weather  for  this  time  of  year  to  be  sure. 
It'll  help  on  the  crops  finely."  And  then  he  again 
relapsed  into  silence. 

The  baron  began  to  get  Impatient. 

"  Then  you  are  going  to  marry  Rosalie?  "  he  said  in 
a  dry  tone,  going  straight  to  the  point. 

At  that  all  the  crafty  suspicious  nature  of  the  Nor- 
mandy peasant  was  on  the  alert. 

"  That  depends,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  Perhaps 
I  am  and  perhaps  I  ain't,  that  depends." 

All  this  beating  about  the  bush  irritated  the  baron. 

"  Can't  you  give  a  straightforward  answer?  "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Have  you  come  to  say  you  will  marry  the 
girl  or  not?  " 

The  man  looked  at  his  feet  as  though  he  expected  to 
find  advice  there: 


138  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

"  If  It's  as  M'sieu  I'cure  says,"  he  replied,  "  I'll 
have  her;  but  if  it's  as  M'sieu  Julien  says,  I  won't." 

"What  did  M.  Julien  tell  you?" 

"  M'sieu  Julien  told  me  as  how  I  should  have  fifteen 
hundred  francs;  but  M'sieu  I'cure  told  me  as  how  I 
should  'ave  twenty  thousand.  I'll  have  her  for  twenty 
thousand,  but  I  won't  for  fifteen  hundred." 

The  baroness  was  tickled  by  the  perplexed  look  on 
the  yokel's  face  and  began  to  shake  with  laughter  as 
she  sat  In  her  armchair.  Her  gayety  surprised  the 
peasant,  who  looked  at  her  suspiciously  out  of  the  cor- 
ner of  his  eye  as  he  waited  for  an  answer. 

The  baron  cut  short  all  this  haggling. 

"  I  have  told  M.  le  cure  that  you  shall  have  the  farm 
at  Barvllle,  which  Is  worth  twenty  thousand  francs,  for 
life,  and  then  it  Is  to  become  the  child's.  That  is  all 
I  have  to  say  on  the  matter,  and  I  always  keep  my  word. 
Now  is  your  answer  yes  or  no?  " 

A  satisfied  smile  broke  over  the  man's  face,  and,  with 
a  sudden  loquacity: 

"  Oh,  then,  I  don't  say  no,"  he  replied.  "  That  was 
the  only  thing  that  pulled  me  up.  When  M'sieu  I'cure 
said  somethin'  to  me  about  It  in  the  first  place,  I  said 
yes  at  once,  'specially  as  it  was  to  oblige  M'sieu  I'baron 
who'd  be  sure  to  pay  me  back  for  it,  as  I  says  to  myself. 
Ain't  It  always  the  way,  and  doesn't  one  good  turn 
always  deserve  another?  But  M'sieu  Julien  comes  up 
and  then  it  was  only  fifteen  'undred  francs.  Then  I 
says  to  myself,  '  I  must  find  out  the  rights  o'  this  and 
so  I  came  'ere.  In  coorse  I  b'lieved  your  word,  M'sieu 
I'baron,  but  I  wanted  to  find  out  the  rights  o'  the  case. 
Short  reck'nings  make  long  friends,  don't  they,  M'sieu 
I'baron?" 


UNE  VIE  139 

He  would  have  gone  on  like  this  till  dinner-time  if 
no  one  had  interrupted  him,  so  the  baron  broke  in 
with : 

"  When  will  you  marry  her?  " 

The  question  aroused  the  peasant's  suspicions  again 
directly. 

"  Couldn't  I  have  it  put  down  in  writin'  first?  "  he 
asked  in  a  halting  way. 

"  Why  bless  my  soul,  isn't  the  marriage-contract 
good  enough  for  you?"  exclaimed  the  baron,  angered 
by  the  man's  suspicious  nature. 

"  But  until  I  get  that  I  should  like  it  wrote  down, 
on  paper,"  persisted  the  peasant.  "  Havin'  it  down, 
on  paper  never  does  no  harm." 

"  Give  a  plain  answer,  now  at  once,"  said  the  baron, 
rising  to  put  an  end  to  the  interview.  "  If  you  don't 
choose  to  marry  the  girl,  say  so.  I  know  someone  else 
who  would  be  glad  of  the  chance." 

The  idea  of  twenty  thousand  francs  slipping  from 
his  hands  into  someone  else's,  startled  the  peasant  out 
of  his  cautiousness,  and  he  at  once  decided  to  say 
*'yes": 

"  Agreed,  M'sieu  I'baron !  "  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand  as  if  he  were  concluding  the  purchase  of  a  cow. 
*'  It's  done,  and  there's  no  going  back  from  the  bar- 
gain." 

The  baron  took  his  hand  and  cried  to  the  cook: 

"  Ludivine!      Bring  a  bottle  of  wine," 

The  wine  was  drunk  and  then  the  peasant  went 
away,  feeling  a  great  deal  lighter-hearted  than  when  he 
had  come. 

Nothing  was  said  about  this  visit  to  Julien.  The 
drawing  up  of  the  marriage-contract  was  kept  a  great 


I40  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

secret;  then  the  banns  were  published  and  Rosalie  was 
married  on  the  Monday  morning.  At  the  church  a 
neighbor  stood  behind  the  bride  and  bridegroom  with 
a  child  in  her  arms  as  an  omen  of  good  luck,  and  ev^ery- 
one  thought  Desire  Lecoq  very  fortunate.  "  He  was 
born  with  a  caul,"  said  the  peasants  with  a  smile. 

When  Julien  heard  of  the  marriage  he  had  a  violent 
quarrel  with  the  baron  and  baroness  and  they  decided 
to  shorten  their  visit  at  Les  Peuples.  Jeanne  was  sorry 
but  she  did  not  grieve  as  before  when  her  parents  went 
away,  for  now  all  her  hopes  and  thoughts  were  cen- 
tered on  her  son. 


IX 

Now  Jeanne  was  quite  well  again  she  thought  she 
would  like  to  return  the  Fourville's  visit,  and  also  to 
call  on  the  Couteliers.  Julien  had  just  bought  another 
carriage  at  a  sale,  a  phaeton.  It  only  needed  one  horse, 
so  they  could  go  out  twice  a  month,  now,  instead  of 
once,  and  they  used  It  for  the  first  time  one  bright  De- 
cember morning. 

After  driving  for  two  hours  across  the  Normandy 
plains  they  began  to  go  down  to  a  little  valley,  whose 
sloping  sides  were  covered  with  trees,  while  the  level 
ground  at  the  bottom  was  cultivated.  The  ploughed 
fields  were  followed  by  meadows,  the  meadows  by  a 
fen  covered  with  tall  reeds,  which  waved  in  the  wind 
like  yellow  ribbons,  and  then  the  road  took  a  sharp 
turn  and  the  Chateau  de  la  Vrlllette  came  In  sight.  It 
was  built  between  a  wooded  slope  on  the  one  side  and 
a  large  lake  on  the  other,  the  water  stretching  from  the 


UNE  VIE  141 

chateau  wall  to  the  tall  fir-trees  which  covered  the  op- 
posite acclivity. 

The  carriage  had  to  pass  over  an  old  draw-bridge 
and  under  a  vast  Louis  XIII.  archway  before  it  drew  up 
in  front  of  a  handsome  building  of  the  same  period  as 
the  archway,  with  brick  frames  round  the  windows  and 
slated  turrets.  Julien  pointed  out  all  the  different 
beauties  of  the  mansion  to  Jeanne  as  if  he  were 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  every  nook  and  corner  of  it. 

"Isn't  it  a  superb  place?"  he  exclaimed.  "Just 
look  at  that  archway!  On  the  other  side  of  the  house, 
which  looks  on  to  the  lake,  there  is  a  magnificent  flight 
of  steps  leading  right  down  to  the  water.  Four  boats 
are  moored  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  two  for  the 
comte  and  two  for  the  comtesse.  The  lake  ends  down 
there,  on  the  right,  where  you  can  see  that  row  of 
poplars,  and  there  the  river,  which  runs  to  Fecamp, 
rises.  The  place  abounds  in  wild-fowl,  and  the  comtc 
passes  all  his  time  shooting.  Ah!  it  is  indeed  a  lordly 
residence." 

The  hall  door  opened  and  the  fair-haired  comtesse 
came  to  meet  her  visitors  with  a  smile  on  her  face. 
She  wore  a  trailing  dress  like  a  chatelaine  of  the  middle 
ages,  and,  exactly  suited  to  the  place  in  which  she  lived, 
she  looked  like  some  beautiful  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

Four  out  of  the  eight  drawing-room  windows  looked 
on  to  the  lake,  and  the  water  looked  dull  and  dismal, 
overshadowed  as  it  was  by  the  gloomy  fir-trees  which 
covered  the  opposite  slope. 

The  comtesse  took  both  Jeanne's  hands  in  hers  as  if 
she  had  known  her  for  ages,  placed  her  in  a  seat  and 
then   drew  a  low  chair  beside  her   for  herself,   while 


142  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

Jullen,  who  had  regained  all  his  old  refinement  during 
the  last  five  months,  smiled  and  chatted  in  an  easy, 
familiar  way.  The  comtesse  and  he  talked  about  the 
rides  they  had  had  together.  She  laughed  a  little  at 
his  bad  horsemanship,  and  called  him  "  The  Tottering 
Knight,"  and  he  too  laughed,  calling  her  in  return 
*'  The  Amazon  Queen." 

A  gun  went  off  just  under  the  window,  and  Jeanne 
gave  a  little  cry.  It  was  the  comte  shooting  teal,  and 
his  wife  called  him  in.  There  was  the  splash  of  oars, 
the  grating  of  a  boat  against  the  stone  steps  and  then 
the  comte  came  In,  followed  by  two  dogs  of  a  reddish 
hue,  which  lay  down  on  the  carpet  before  the  door, 
while  the  water  dripped  from  their  shaggy  coats. 

The  comte  seemed  more  at  his  ease  in  his  own  house, 
and  was  delighted  to  see  the  vicomte  and  Jeanne.  He 
ordered  the  fire  to  be  made  up,  and  Madeira  and  bis- 
cuits to  be  brought. 

"  Of  course  you  will  dine  with  us,"  he  exclaimed. 

Jeanne  refused  the  Invitation,  thinking  of  Paul;  and 
as  he  pressed  her  to  stay  and  she  still  persisted  In  her 
refusal,  Jullen  made  a  movement  of  impatience.  Then 
afraid  of  arousing  her  husband's  quarrelsome  temper,. 
she  consented  to  stay,  though  the  Idea  of  not  seeing 
Paul  till  the  next  day  was  torture  to  her. 

They  spent  a  delightful  afternoon.  First  of  all  the 
visitors  were  taken  to  see  the  springs  which  flowed  from 
the  foot  of  a  moss-covered  rock  into  a  crystal  basin  of 
water  which  bubbled  as  if  it  were  boiling,  and  then  they 
went  in  a  boat  among  the  dry  reeds,  where  paths  of 
water  had  been  formed  by  cutting  down  the  rushes. 

The  comte  rowed  (his  two  dogs  sitting  each  side  of 


UNE  VIE  14;^ 

him  with  their  noses  in  the  air)  and  each  vigorous  stroke 
of  the  oars  lifted  the  boat  half  out  of  the  water  and  sent 
it  rapidly  on  its  way.  Jeanne  let  her  hand  trail  in  the 
water,  enjoying  the  icy  coolness,  which  seemed  to  soothe 
her,  and  Julien  and  the  comtesse,  well  wrapped  up  In 
rugs,  sat  in  smiling  silence  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  as 
if  they  were  too  happy  to  talk. 

The  evening  drew  on,  and  with  It  the  Icy,  northerly 
wind  came  over  the  withered  reeds.  The  sun  had  dis- 
appeared behind  the  firs,  and  It  made  one  cold  only  to 
look  at  the  crimson  sky,  covered  with  tiny,  red  fantastl- 
cally-sbaped  clouds. 

They  all  went  In  to  the  big  drawing-room  where  an 
enormous  fire  was  blazing.  The  room  seemed  to  be 
filled  with  an  atmosphere  of  warmth  and  comfort,  and 
the  comte  gayly  took  up  his  wife  In  his  strong  arms  like 
a  child,  and  gave  her  two  hearty  kisses  on  her  cheeks. 

Jeanne  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  good-natured 
giant  to  whom  his  moustaches  gave  the  appearance  of 
an  ogre.  "  What  wrong  Impressions  of  people  one 
forms  every  day,"  she  thought;  and,  almost  Involun- 
tarily, she  glanced  at  Julien.  He  was  standing  In  the 
doorway  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  comte  and  his  face  very 
pale.  His  expression  frightened  her  and,  going  up  to 
him,  she  asked: 

"  What  Is  the  matter?  are  you  111?  " 

"  There's  nothing  the  matter  with  me,"  he  answered, 
churlishly.      "  Leave  me  alone.      I  only  feel  cold." 

Dinner  was  announced  and  the  comte  begged  permis- 
sion for  his  dogs  to  come  Into  the  dining-room.  They 
came  and  sat  one  on  each  side  of  their  master,  who  every 
minute  threw  them  some  scrap  of  food.      The  animals 


144  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

stretched  out  their  heads,  and  wagged  their  tails,  quiv- 
ering with  pleasure  as  he  drew  their  long  silky  ears 
through  his  fingers. 

After  dinner,  when  Jeanne  and  Julien  began  to  say 
good-bye,  the  comte  insisted  on  their  staying  to  see  some 
fishing  by  torchlight.  They  and  the  comtesse  stood  on 
the  steps  leading  down  to  the  lake,  while  the  comte  got 
into  his  boat  with  a  servant  carrying  a  lighted  torch  and 
a  net.  The  torch  cast  strange  trembling  reflections  over 
the  water,  its  dancing  glimmers  even  lighting  up  the 
firs  beyond  the  reeds;  and  suddenly,  as  the  boat  turned 
round,  an  enormous  fantastic  shadow  was  thrown  on 
the  background  of  the  illumined  wood.  It  was  the 
shadow  of  a  man,  but  the  head  rose  above  the  trees  and 
was  lost  against  the  dark  sky,  while  the  feet  seemed  to 
be  down  in  the  lake.  This  huge  creature  raised  its 
arms  as  if  it  would  grasp  the  stars;  the  movement  was  a 
rapid  one,  and  the  spectators  on  the  steps  heard  a  little 
splash. 

The  boat  tacked  a  little,  and  the  gigantic  shadow 
seemed  to  run  along  the  wood,  which  was  lighted  up  as 
the  torch  moved  with  the  boat;  then  it  was  lost  in  the 
darkness,  then  reappeared  on  the  chateau  wall,  smaller, 
but  more  distinct;  and  the  loud  voice  of  the  comte  was 
heard  exclaiming: 

"  Gilberte,  I  have  caught  eight!  " 

The  oars  splashed,  and  the  enormous  shadow  re- 
mained standing  in  the  same  place  on  the  wall,  but  grad- 
ually it  became  thinner  and  shorter;  the  head  seemed 
to  sink  lower  and  the  body  to  get  narrower,  and  when 
M.  de  Fourville  came  up  the  steps,  followed  by  the 
servant  carrying  the  torch,  it  was  reduced  to  his  exact 


UNE  VIE  145 

proportions,  and  faithfully  copied  all  his  movements. 
In  the  net  he  had  eight  big  fish  which  were  still  quiv- 
ering. 

As  Jeanne  and  Julien  were  driving  home,  well 
wrapped  up  in  cloaks  and  rugs  which  the  Fourvilles  had 
lent  them, 

"  What  a  good-hearted  man  that  giant  is,"  said 
Jeanne,  almost  to  herself. 

"Yes,"  answered  Julien;  "but  he  makes  too  much 
show  of  his  affection,  sometimes,  before  people." 

A  week  after  their  visit  to  the  Fourvilles,  they  called 
on  the  Couteliers,  who  w'ere  supposed  to  be  the  highest 
family  in  the  province,  and  whose  estate  lay  near  Cany, 
The  new  chateau,  built  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV,  lay 
In  a  magnificent  park,  entirely  surrounded  by  w'alls,  and 
the  ruins  of  the  old  chateau  could  be  seen  from  the 
higher  parts  of  the  grounds. 

A  liveried  servant  showed  the  visitors  into  a  large, 
handsome  room.  In  the  middle  of  the  floor  an  enor- 
mous Sevres  vase  stood  on  a  pedestal,  Into  which  a  crys- 
tal case  had  been  let  containing  the  king's  autograph 
letter,  offering  this  gift  to  the  Marquis  Leopold  Herve 
Joseph  Germer  de  Varnevllle,  de  Rollebosc  de  Coute- 
lier.  Jeanne  and  Julien  were  looking  at  this  royal  pres- 
ent when  the  marquis  and  marquise  came  In,  the  latter 
wearing  her  hair  powdered. 

The  marquise  thought  her  rank  constrained  her  to 

be   amiable,    and   her   desire   to   appear   condescending 

made  her  affected.     Her  husband  was  a  big  man,  with 

white  hair  brushed  straight  up  all  over  his  head,  and  a 

haughtiness  in  his  voice,  in  all  his  movements.  In  his 

every    attitude    which    plainly    showed    the    esteem    in 
V— 10 


146  A  WOiMAN'S  LIFE 

which  he  held  himself.  They  were  people  who  had  a 
strict  etiquette  for  everything,  and  whose  feelings 
seemed  always  stilted,  like  their  words. 

They  both  talked  on  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
smiled  with  an  air  of  indifference,  and  behaved  as  if 
they  were  accomplishing  a  duty  imposed  upon  them  by 
their  superior  birth,  in  receiving  the  smaller  nobles  of 
the  province  with  such  politeness.  Jeanne  and  Julien 
tried  to  make  themselves  agreeable,  though  they  felt 
ill  at  ease,  and  when  the  time  came  to  conclude  their 
visit  they  hardly  knew  how  to  retire,  though  they  did 
not  want  to  stay  any  longer.  However,  the  marquise, 
herself,  ended  the  visit  naturally  and  simply  by  stopping 
short  the  conversation,  like  a  queen  ending  an  audience. 

"  I  don't  think  we  will  call  on  anyone  else,  unless  you 
want  to,"  said  Julien,  as  they  were  going  back.  "  The 
Fourvilles  are  quite  as  many  friends  as  I  want." 

And  Jeanne  agreed  with  him. 

Dark,  dreary  December  passed  slowly  away.  Every- 
one stayed  at  home  like  the  winter  before,  but  Jeanne's 
thoughts  were  too  full  of  Paul  for  her  ever  to  feel  dull. 
She  would  hold  him  in  her  arms  covering  him  with  those 
passionate  kisses  which  mothers  lavish  on  their  children, 
then  offering  the  baby's  face  to  his  father : 

"  Why  don't  you  kiss  him?  "  she  would  say.  "  You 
hardly  seem  to  love  him." 

Julien  would  just  touch  the  infant's  smooth  forehead 
with  his  lips,  holding  his  body  as  far  away  as  possible, 
as  If  he  were  afraid  of  the  little  hands  touching  him  in 
their  aimless  movements.  Then  he  would  go  quickly 
out  of  the  room,  almost  as  though  the  child  disgusted 
him. 

The  mayor,  the  doctor,  and  the  cure  came  to  dinner 


UNE  VIE  147 

occasionally,  and  sometimes  the  Fourvilles,  who  had  be- 
come very  intimate  with  Jeanne  and  her  husband.  The 
comte  seemed  to  worship  Paul.  He  nursed  the  child 
on  his  knees  from  the  time  he  entered  Les  Peuples  to 
the  time  he  left,  sometimes  holding  him  the  whole  after- 
noon, and  it  was  marvelous  to  see  how  delicately  and 
tenderly  he  touched  him  with  his  huge  hands.  He 
would  tickle  the  child's  nose  with  the  ends  of  his  long 
moustaches,  and  then  suddenly  cover  his  face  with 
kisses  almost  as  passionate  as  Jeanne's.  It  was  the 
great  trouble  of  his  life  that  he  had  no  children. 

March  was  bright,  dry,  and  almost  mild.  The 
Comtesse  Gilberte  again  proposed  that  they  should  all 
four  go  for  some  rides  together,  and  Jeanne,  a  little 
tired  of  the  long  weary  evenings  and  the  dull,  monoto- 
nous days,  was  only  too  pleased  at  the  idea  and  agreed 
to  it  at  once.  It  took  her  a  week  to  make  her  riding- 
habit,  and  then  they  commenced  their  rides. 

They  always  rode  two  and  two,  the  comtesse  and 
Julien  leading  the  way,  and  the  comte  and  Jeanne  about 
a  hundred  feet  behind.  The  latter  couple  talked  easily 
and  quietly  as  they  rode  along,  for,  each  attracted  by 
the  other's  straightforward  ways  and  kindly  heart,  they 
had  become  fast  friends.  Julien  and  the  comtesse 
talked  in  whispers  alternated  by  noisy  bursts  of  laugh- 
ter, and  looked  in  each  other's  eyes  to  read  there  the 
things  their  lips  did  not  utter,  and  often  they  would 
break  into  a  gallop,  as  if  impelled  by  a  desire  to  escape 
alone  to  some  country  far  away. 

Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  something  irritated  Gil- 
berte. Her  sharp  tones  would  be  borne  on  the  breeze 
to  the  ears  of  the  couple  loitering  behind,  and  the  comte 
would  say  to  Jeanne,  with  a  smile : 


148  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

"  I  don't  think  my  wife  got  out  of  bed  the  right  side 
this  morning." 

One  evening,  as  they  were  returning  home,  the  com- 
tesse  began  to  spur  her  mare,  and  then  pull  her  in  with 
sudden  jerks  on  the  rein. 

"  Take  care,  or  she'll  run  away  wuth  you,"  said  Julien 
two  or  three  times. 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  me;  it's  nothing  to  do  with 
you,"  she  replied,  in  such  cold,  hard  tones  that  the  clear 
words  rang  out  over  the  fields  as  if  they  were  actually 
floating  in  the  air. 

The  mare  reared,  kicked,  and  foamed  at  the  mouth, 
and  the  comte  cried  out  anxiously : 

"  Do  take  care  what  you  are  doing,  Gilberte !  " 

Then,  in  a  fit  of  defiance,  for  she  was  in  one  of  those 
obstinate  moods  that  will  brook  no  word  of  advice,  she 
brought  her  whip  heavily  down  between  the  animal's 
ears.  The  mare  reared,  beat  the  air  with  her  fore  legs 
for  a  moment,  then,,  with  a  tremendous  bound,  set  off 
over  the  plain  at  the  top  of  her  speed.  First  she  crossed 
a  meadow,  then  some  ploughed  fields,  kicking  up  the 
wet  heavy  soil  behind  her,  and  going  at  such  a  speed 
that  in  a  few  moments  the  others  could  hardly  distin- 
guish the  comtesse  from  her  horse. 

Julien  stood  stock  still,  crying:  "Madame!  Ma- 
dame! "  The  comte  gave  a  groan,  and,  bending  down 
over  his  powerful  steed,  galloped  after  his  wife.  He 
encouraged  his  steed  with  voice  and  hand,  urged  it  on 
with  whip  and  spur,  and  it  seemed  as  though  he  carried 
the  big  animal  between  his  legs,  and  raised  it  from  the 
ground  at  every  leap  it  took.  The  horse  went  at  an 
inconceivable  speed,  keeping  a  straight  line  regardless 
of  all  obstacles;  and  Jeanne  could  see  the  two  outlines 


UNE  VIE  149 

of  the  husband  and  wife  diminish  and  fade  in  the  dis- 
tance, till  they  vanished  altogether,  like  two  birds  chas- 
ing each  other  till  they  are  lost  to  sight  beyond  the 
horizon. 

Julien  walked  his  horse  up  to  his  wife,  murmuring 
angrily:  "  She  is  mad  to-day."  And  they  both  went 
off  after  their  friends,  who  were  hidden  in  a  dip  in  the 
plain.  In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  saw  them 
coming  back,  and  soon  they  came  up  to  them. 

The  comte,  looking  red,  hot  and  triumphant,  was 
leading  his  wife's  horse.  The  comtesse  was  very  pale; 
her  features  looked  drawn  and  contracted,  and  she  leant 
on  her  husband's  shoulder  as  if  she  were  going  to  faint. 
That  day  Jeanne  understood,  for  the  first  time,  how 
madly  the  comte  loved  his  wife. 

All  through  the  following  month  the  comtesse  was 
merrier  than  she  had  ever  been  before.  She  came  to 
Les  Peuples  as  often  as  she  could,  and  was  always  laugh- 
ing and  jumping  up  to  kiss  Jeanne.  She  seemed  to  have 
found  some  unknown  source  of  happiness,  and  her  hus- 
band simply  worshiped  her  now,  following  her  about 
with  his  eyes  and  seeking  ev^ery  pretext  for  touching  her 
hand  or  her  dress. 

"  We  are  happier  now  than  we  have  ever  been  be- 
fore," he  said,  one  evening,  to  Jeanne.  "  Gilberte  has 
never  been  so  affectionate  as  she  is  now;  nothing  seems 
to  vex  her  or  make  her  angry.  Until  lately  I  was  never 
quite  sure  that  she  loved  me,  but  now  I  know  she  does." 

Julien  had  changed  for  the  better  also;  he  had  be- 
come gay  and  good-tempered,  and  their  friendship 
seemed  to  have  brought  peace  and  happiness  to  both 
families. 

The  spring  v/as  exceptionally  warm  and   forward. 


I50  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

The  sun  cast  his  warm  rays  upon  the  budding  trees  and 
flowers  from  early  morn  until  the  sweet,  soft  evening. 
It  was  one  of  those  favored  years  when  the  world  seems 
to  have  grown  young  again,  and  nature  to  delight  in 
bringing  everything  to  life  once  more. 

Jeanne  felt  a  vague  excitement  in  the  presence  of  this 
reawakening  of  the  fields  and  woods.  She  gave  way  to 
a  sweet  melancholy  and  spent  hours  languidly  dream- 
ing. All  the  tender  incidents  of  her  first  hours  of  love 
came  back  to  her,  not  that  any  renewal  of  affection  for 
her  husband  stirred  her  heart;  that  had  been  completely 
destroyed;  but  the  soft  breeze  which  fanned  her  cheek 
and  the  sweet  perfume  which  filled  the  air  seemed  to 
breathe  forth  a  tender  sigh  of  love  which  made  her 
pulse  beat  quicker.  She  liked  to  be  alone,  and  in  the 
warm  sunshine,  to  enjoy  these  vague,  peaceful  sensations 
which  aroused  no  thoughts. 

One  morning  she  was  lying  thus  half-dormant,  when 
suddenly  she  saw  in  her  mind  that  sunlit  space  in  the 
little  wood  near  Etretat  where  for  the  first  time  she  had 
felt  thrilled  by  the  presence  of  the  man  who  loved  her 
then,  where  he  had  for  the  first  time  timidly  hinted 
at  his  hopes,  and  where  she  had  believed  that  she  was 
going  to  realize  the  radiant  future  of  her  dreams.  She 
thought  she  should  like  to  make  a  romantic,  supersti- 
tious pilgrimage  to  the  wood,  and  she  felt  as  if  a  visit 
to  that  sunny  spot  would  in  some  way  alter  the  course 
of  her  life. 

Julien  had  gone  out  at  daybreak,  she  did  not  know 
whither,  so  she  ordered  the  Martins'  little  white  horse, 
which  she  sometimes  rode,  to  be  saddled,  and  set  off. 

It  was  one  of  those  calm  days  when  there  is  not  a  leaf 
nor  a  blade  of  grass  stirring.     The  wind  seemed  dead, 


UNE  VIE  151 

and  everything  looked  as  though  it  would  remain  mo- 
tionless until  the  end  of  time;  even  the  insects  had  dis- 
appeared. A  burning,  steady  heat  descended  from  the 
sun  in  a  golden  mist,  and  Jeanne  walked  her  horse  along, 
enjoying  the  stillness,  and  every  now  and  then  looking 
up  at  a  tiny  white  cloud  which  hung  like  a  snowy  fleece 
in  the  midst  of  the  bright  blue  sky.  She  went  down 
into  the  valley  leading  to  the  sea,  between  the  two  great 
arches  which  are  called  the  gates  of  Etretat,  and  went 
slowly  towards  the  wood. 

The  sunlight  poured  down  through  the  foliage  which, 
as  yet,  was  not  very  thick,  and  Jeanne  wandered  along 
the  little  paths  unable  to  find  the  spot  where  she  had  sat 
with  Julien.  She  turned  into  a  long  alley  and,  at  the 
other  end  of  it,  saw  two  saddle-horses  fastened  to  a  tree; 
she  recognized  them  at  once;  they  were  Gilberte's  and 
Julien's.  Tired  of  being  alone  and  pleased  at  this  un- 
expected meeting,  she  trotted  quickly  up  to  them,  and 
when  she  reached  the  two  animals,  which  were  waiting 
quietly  as  if  accustomed  to  stand  like  this,  she  called 
aloud.     There  was  no  answer. 

On  the.  grass,  which  looked  as  if  someone  had  rested 
there,  lay  a  w^oman's  glove  and  two  whips.  Julien  and 
Gilberte  had  evidently  sat  down  and  then  gone  farther 
on,  leaving  the  horses  tied  to  the  tree.  Jeanne  won- 
dered what  they  could  be  doing,  and  getting  off  her 
horse,  she  leant  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree  and  waited 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  twenty  minutes.  She  stood 
quite  motionless,  and  two  little  birds  flew  down  onto  the 
grass  close  by  her.  One  of  them  hopped  round  the 
other,  fluttering  his  outstretchec  wings,  and  chlrpmg  and 
nodding  his  little  head;  all  at  once  they  coupled. 
Jeanne  watched  them,  as  surprised  as  if  she  had  never 


152  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

known  of  such  a  thing  before ;  then  she  thought :  "  Oh, 
of  course!      It  is  springtime." 

Then  came  another  thought  —  a  suspicion.  She 
looked  again  at  the  glove,  the  whips  and  the  two  horses 
standing  riderless ;  then  she  sprang  on  her  horse  with  an 
intense  longing  to  leave  this  place.  She  started  back 
to  Les  Peuples  at  a  gallop.  Her  brain  was  busy  rea- 
soning, connecting  different  incidents  and  thinking  it  all 
out. 

How  was  it  that  she  had  never  noticed  anything,  had 
never  guessed  this  before?  How  was  It  that  Julien's 
frequent  absence  from  home,  his  renewed  attention  to 
his  toilet,  his  better  temper  had  told  her  nothing?  Now 
she  understood  Gilberte's  nervous  irritability,  her  ex- 
aggerated affection  for  herself  and  the  bliss  In  which 
she  had  appeared  to  be  living  lately,  and  which  had  so 
pleased  the  comte. 

She  pulled  up  her  horse  for  she  wanted  to  think 
calmly,  and  the  quick  movement  confused  her  Ideas. 
After  the  first  shock  she  became  almost  Indifferent;  she 
felt  neither  jealousy  nor  hatred,  only  contempt.  She 
did  not  think  about  Jullen  at  all,  for  nothing  that  he 
could  do  w^ould  have  astonished  her,  but  the  twofold 
treachery  of  the  comtesse,  who  had  deceived  her  friend 
as  well  as  her  husband,  hurt  her  deeply.  So  everyone 
was  treacherous,  and  untrue  and  faithless !  Her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  for  sometimes  It  Is  as  bitter  to  see  an 
Illusion  destroyed  as  to  witness  the  death  of  a  friend. 
She  resolved  to  say  nothing  more  about  her  discovery. 
Her  heart  would  be  dead  to  everyone  but  Paul  and  her 
parents,  but  she  would  bear  a  smiling  face. 

When  she  reached  home  she  caught  up  her  son  In  her 
arms,  carried  him  to  her  room  and  pressed  her  lips  to 


UNE  VIE  153 

his  face  again  and  again,  and  for  a  whole  hour  she 
played  with  and  caressed  him. 

Julien  came  in  to  dinner  in  a  very  good  temper  and 
full  of  plans  for  his  wife's  pleasure. 

"  Won't  your  father  and  mother  come  and  stay  with 
us  this  year?  "  he  said. 

Jeanne  almost  forgave  him  his  infidelity,  so  grateful 
was  she  to  him  for  making  this  proposal.  She  longed 
to  see  the  two  people  she  loved  best  after  Paul,  and  she 
passed  the  whole  evening  in  writing  to  them,  and  urg- 
ing them  to  come  as  soon  as  possible. 

They  wrote  to  say  they  would  come  on  the  twentieth 
of  May;  it  was  then  the  seventh,  and  Jeanne  awaited 
their  arrival  with  intense  impatience.  Besides  her  natu- 
ral desire  to  see  her  parents,  she  felt  it  would  be  such  a 
relief  to  have  near  her  two  honest  hearts,  two  simple- 
minded  beings  whose  life  and  every  action,  thought  and 
desire  had  always  been  upright  and  pure.  She  felt  she 
stood  alone  in  her  honesty  among  all  this  guilt.  She 
had  learnt  to  dissimulate  her  feelings,  to  meet  the  com- 
tesse  with  an  outstretched  hand  and  a  smiling  face,  but 
her  sense  of  desolation  increased  with  her  contempt  for 
her  fellow-men. 

Every  day  some  village  scandal  reached  her  ears 
which  filled  her  with  still  greater  disgust  and  scorn  for 
human  frailty.  The  Couillards'  daughter  had  just  had 
a  child  and  was  therefore  going  to  be  married.  The 
Martins'  servant,  who  was  an  orphan,  a  little  girl  only 
fifteen  years  old,  who  lived  near,  and  a  widow,  a  lame, 
poverty-stricken  woman  who  was  so  horribly  dirty  that 
she  had  been  nicknamed  La  Crotte,  were  all  pregnant; 
and  Jeanne  was  continually  hearing  of  the  misconduct 
of  some  girl,  some  married  woman  with  a  family,  or  of 


154  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

some  rich  farmer  who  had  been  held  in  general  respect. 

This  warm  spring  seemed  to  revive  the  passions  of 
mankind  as  it  revived  the  plants  and  the  flowers;  but 
to  Jeanne,  whose  senses  were  dead,  and  whose  wounded 
heart  and  romantic  soul  were  alone  stirred  by  the  warm 
springtide  breezes,  and  who  only  dreamed  of  the  poetic 
side  of  love,  these  bestial  desires  were  revolting  and 
hateful.  She  was  angry  with  Gilberte,  not  for  having 
robbed  her  of  her  husband,  but  for  having  bespattered 
herself  with  this  filth.  The  comtesse  was  not  of  the 
same  class  as  the  peasants,  who  could  not  resist  their 
brutal  desires ;  then  how  could  she  have  fallen  into  the 
same  abomination? 

The  very  day  that  her  parents  were  to  arrive,  Julien 
Increased  his  wife's  disgust  by  telling  her  laughingly,  as 
though  it  were  something  quite  natural  and  very  funny, 
that  the  baker  having  heard  a  noise  In  his  oven  the  day 
before,  which  was  not  baking  day,  had  gone  to  see  what 
it  was,  and  instead  of  finding  the  stray  cat  he  ex- 
pected to  see,  had  surprised  his  wife,  "  who  was  cer- 
tainly not  putting  bread  into  the  oven."  "  The  baker 
closed  the  mouth  of  the  oven,"  went  on  Julien,  "  and 
they  would  have  been  suffocated  if  the  baker's  little  boy, 
who  had  seen  his  mother  go  into  the  oven  with  the 
blacksmith,  had  not  told  the  neighbors  what  was  going 
on."  He  laughed  as  he  added,  "  That  will  give  a  nice 
flavor  to  the  bread.  It  is  just  like  a  tale  of  La  Fon- 
tame  s. 

For  some  time  after  that  Jeanne  could  not  touch 
bread. 

'  When  the  post-chaise  drew  up  before  the  door  with 
the  baron's  smiling  face  looking  out  of  the   window, 


UNE  VIE  155 

Jeanne  felt  fonder  of  her  parents  and  more  pleased  to 
see  them  than  she  had  ever  been  before;  but  when  she 
saw  her  mother  she  was  overcome  with  surprise  and 
grief.  The  baroness  looked  ten  years  older  than  when 
she  had  left  Les  Peuples  six  months  before.  Her  huge, 
flabby  cheeks  were  suffused  with  blood,  her  eyes  had  a 
glazed  look,  and  she  could  not  move  a  step  unless  she 
was  supported  on  either  side;  she  drew  her  breath  with 
so  much  difficulty  that  only  to  hear  her  made  everyone 
around  her  draw  theirs  painfully  also. 

The  baron,  who  had  lived  with  her  and  seen  her  ev^ery 
day,  had  not  noticed  the  gradual  change  in  his  wife,  and 
if  she  had  complained  or  said  her  breathing  and  the 
heavy  feeling  about  her  heart  were  getting  worse,  he 
had  answered: 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear.     You  have  always  been  like  this." 

Jeanne  went  to  her  own  room  and  cried  bitterly  when 
she  had  taken  her  parents  upstairs.  Then  she  went  to 
her  father  and,  throwing  herself  in  his  arms,  said,  with 
her  eyes  still  full  of  tears : 

"  Oh,  how  changed  mother  is!  What  is  the  matter 
with  her?      Do  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with  her?  " 

"  Do  you  think  she  is  changed?  "  asked  the  baron  in 
surprise.  "  It  must  be  your  fancy.  You  know  I  have 
been  with  her  all  this  time,  and  to  me  she  seems  just  the 
same  as  she  has  always  been;  she  is  not  any  worse." 

"  Your  mother  is  in  a  bad  way,"  said  Julien  to  his 
wife  that  evening.  "  I  don't  think  she's  good  for  much 
now." 

Jeanne  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  good  gracious!  "  went  on  Julien  irritably.  "  I 
don't  say  that  she  is  dangerously  ill.     You  always  see  so 


156  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

much  more  than  is  meant.  She  is  changed,  that's  all; 
it's  only  natural  she  should  begin  to  break  up  at  her 
age." 

In  a  week  Jeanne  had  got  accustomed  to  her  mother's 
altered  appearance  and  thought  no  more  about  it,  thrust- 
ing her  fears  from  her,  as  people  always  do  put  aside 
their  fears  and  cares,  with  an  instinctive  and  natural, 
though  selfish  dislike  of  anything  unpleasant. 

The  baroness,  unable  to  walk,  only  went  out  for  about 
half  an  hour  every  day.  When  she  had  gone  once  up 
and  down  "  her  "  avenue,  she  could  not  move  another 
step  and  asked  to  sit  down  on  "  her  "  seat.  Some  days 
she  could  not  walk  even  to  the  end  of  the  avenue,  and 
would  say: 

"  Let  us  stop;  my  hypertrophy  is  too  much  for  me 
to-day." 

She  never  laughed  as  she  used  to;  things  which,  the 
year  before,  would  have  sent  her  into  fits  of  laughter, 
only  brought  a  faint  smile  to  her  lips  now.  Her  eye- 
sight was  still  excellent,  and  she  passed  her  time  in  read- 
ing Corinne  and  Lamartine's  Meditations  over  again, 
and  in  going  through  her  "  Souvenir-drawer."  She 
would  empty  on  her  knees  the  old  letters,  which  were  so 
dear  to  her  heart,  place  the  drawer  on  a  chair  beside 
her,  look  slowly  over  each  "  relic,"  and  then  put  it  back 
in  its  place.  When  she  was  quite  alone  she  kissed  some 
of  the  letters  as  she  might  have  kissed  the  hair  of  some 
loved  one  who  was  dead. 

Jeanne,  coming  into  the  room  suddenly,  sometimes 
found  her  in  tears. 

"What  is  the  matter,  mamma,  dear?"  she  would 
ask. 

"  My  souvenirs  have  upset  me,"  the  baroness  would 


UNE  VIE  157 

answer,  with  a  long-drawn  sigh.  "  They  bring  to  my 
mind  so  vividly  the  happy  times  which  are  all  over  now, 
and  make  me  think  of  people  whom  I  had  almost  for- 
gotten. I  seem  to  see  them,  to  hear  their  voices,  and  it 
makes  me  sad.      You  will  feel  the  same,  later  on." 

If  the  baron  came  In  and  found  them  talking  like  this, 
he  would  say : 

"  Jeanne,  my  dear,  if  you  take  my  advice,  you  will 
burn  all  your  letters  —  those  from  your  mother,  mine, 
everyone's.  There  Is  nothing  more  painful  than  to  stir 
up  the  memories  of  one's  youth  when  one  Is  old." 

But  Jeanne,  who  had  Inherited  her  mother's  senti- 
mental instincts,  though  she  differed  from  her  In  nearly 
ever}'thing  else,  carefully  kept  all  her  old  letters  to  form 
a  "  souvenir-box  "  for  her  old  age,  also. 

A  few  days  after  his  arrival,  business  called  the  baron 
away  again.  The  baroness  soon  began  to  get  better, 
and  Jeanne,  forgetting  Julien's  Infidelity  and  Gilberte's 
treachery,  was  almost  perfectly  happy.  The  weather 
was  splendid.  Mild,  starlit  nights  followed  the  soft 
evenings,  and  dazzling  sunrises  commenced  the  glorious 
days.  The  fields  were  covered  with  bright,  sweet- 
smelling  flowers,  and  the  vast  calm  sea  glittered  In  the 
sun  from  morning  till  night. 

One  afternoon  Jeanne  went  Into  the  fields  with  Paul 
In  her  arms.  She  felt  an  exquisite  gladness  as  she 
looked  now  at  her  son,  now  at  the  flowery  hedgerows, 
and  every  minute  she  pressed  her  baby  closely  to  her 
and  kissed  him.  The  earth  exhaled  a  faint  perfume, 
and,  as  she  walked  along,  she  felt  as  though  her  happi- 
ness were  too  great  for  her.  Then  she  thought  of  her 
child's  future.  What  would  he  be?  Sometimes  she 
hoped   he   would   become   a   great    and    famous   man. 


158  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

Sometimes  she  felt  she  would  rather  he  remanied  with 
her,  passing  his  hfe  in  tender  devotion  to  his  mother  and 
unknown  to  the  world.  When  she  listened  to  the 
promptings  of  her  mother's  heart,  she  wished  him  to 
remain  simply  her  adored  son;  but  when  she  listened  to 
her  reason  and  her  pride  she  hoped  he  would  make  a 
name  and  become  something  of  importance  in  the  world. 

She  sat  down  at  the  edge  of  a  ditch  and  studied  the 
child's  face  as  if  she  had  never  really  looked  at  it  before. 
It  seemed  so  strange  to  think  that  this  little  baby  would 
grow  up,  and  walk  with  manly  strides,  that  these  soft 
cheeks  would  become  bearded,  and  the  feeble  murmur 
change  to  a  deep-toned  voice. 

Someone  called  her,  and,  looking  up,  she  saw  Marius 
running  towards  her.  Thinking  he  had  come  to  an- 
nounce some  visitor,  she  got  up,  feeling  vexed  at  being 
disturbed.  The  boy  was  running  as  fast  as  his  legs 
could  carry  him. 

"  Madame !  "  he  cried,  when  he  was  near  enough  to 
be  heard.      "  Madame  la  baronne  is  very  ill." 

Jeanne  ran  quickly  towards  the  house,  feeling  as  if 
a  douche  of  cold  water  had  been  poured  down  her  spine. 
There  was  quite  a  little  crowd  standing  under  the  plane 
tree,  which  opened  to  let  her  through  as  she  rushed  for- 
ward. There,  in  the  midst,  lay  the  baroness  on  the 
ground,  her  head  supported  by  two  pillows,  her  face 
black,  her  eyes  closed,  and  her  chest,  which  for  the  last 
tw^enty  years  had  heaved  so  tumultuously,  motionless. 
The  child's  nurse  was  standing  there;  she  took  him 
from  his  mother's  arms,  and  carried  him  away. 

"How  did  it  happen?  What  made  her  fall?" 
asked  Jeanne,  looking  up  with  haggard  eyes.  "  Send 
for  the  doctor  immediately." 


UNE  VIE  159 

As  she  turned  she  saw  the  cure ;  he  at  once  offered  his 
services,  and,  turning  up  his  sleeves,  began  to  rub  the 
baroness  with  Eau  de  Cologne  and  vinegar;  but  she 
showed  no  signs  of  returning  consciousness. 

"  She  ought  to  be  undressed  and  put  to  bed,"  said 
the  priest;  and,  with  his  aid,  Joseph  Couillard,  old 
Simon  and  Ludivine  tried  to  raise  the  baroness. 

x^s  they  lifted  her,  her  head  fell  backwards,  and  her 
dress,  which  they  were  grasping,  gave  way  under  the 
dead  weight  of  her  huge  body.  They  were  obliged  to 
lay  her  down  again,  and  Jeanne  shrieked  with  horror. 

At  last  an  armchair  was  brought  from  the  drawing- 
room ;  the  baroness  was  placed  in  it,  carried  slowly  in- 
doors, then  upstairs,  and  laid  on  the  bed.  The  cook 
was  undressing  her  as  best  she  could  when  the  Widow 
Dentu  came  in,  as  if,  like  the  priest,  she  had  "  smelt 
death,"  as  the  servants  said.  Joseph  Couillard  hurried 
off  for  the  doctor,  and  the  priest  was  going  to  fetch  the 
holy  oil,  when  the  nurse  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  You  needn't  trouble  to  go.  Monsieur  le  cure.  I 
have  seen  too  much  of  death  not  to  know  that  she  is 
gone." 

Jeanne,  in  desperation,  begged  them  to  tell  her  what 
she  could  do,  what  remedies  they  had  better  apply. 
The  cure  thought  that  anyhow  he  might  pronounce  an 
absolution,  and  for  two  hours  they  watched  beside  the 
lifeless,  livid  body,  Jeanne,  unable  to  contain  her  grief, 
sobbing  aloud  as  she  knelt  beside  the  bed.  When  the 
door  opened  to  admit  the  doctor,  she  thought  that  with 
him  came  safety  and  consolation  and  hope,  and  she 
rushed  to  meet  him,  trying  to  tell  him,  in  a  voice  broken 
with  sobs,  all  the  details  of  the  catastrophe. 

"  She  was  walking  —  like  she  does  every  day  —  and 


i6o  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

she  seemed  quite  well,  better  even  —  than  usual.  She 
had  eaten  some  soup  and  two  eggs  for  lunch,  and  — 
quite  suddenly,  without  any  warning  she  fell  —  and 
turned  black,  like  she  is  now ;  she  has  not  moved  since, 
and  we  have  —  tried  everything  to  restore  her  to  con- 
sciousness —  everything  — " 

She  stopped  abruptly  for  she  saw  the  nurse  making 
a  sign  to  the  doctor  to  intimate  that  it  was  all  over. 
Then  she  refused  to  understand  the  gesture,  and  went 
on  anxiously: 

"  Is  it  anything  serious?  Do  you  think  there  is  any 
danger?  " 

He  answered  at  last : 

"  I  very  much  fear  that  —  that  life  is  extinct.  Be 
brave  and  try  to  bear  up." 

For  an  answer  Jeanne  opened  her  arms,  and  threw 
herself  on  her  mother's  body.  Julien  came  in.  He 
made  no  sign  of  grief  or  pity,  but  stood  looking  simply 
vexed;  he  had  been  taken  too  much  by  surprise  to  at 
once  assume  an  expression  of  sorrow. 

"  I  expected  it,"  he  whispered.  "  I  knew  she  could 
not  live  long." 

He  drew  out  his  handkerchief,  wiped  his  eyes,  knelt 
down  and  crossed  himself  as  he  mumbled  something, 
then  rose  and  attempted  to  raise  his  wife.  She  was 
clinging  to  the  corpse,  almost  lying  on  it  as  she  passion- 
ately kissed  it;  they  had  to  drag  her  away  for  she  was 
nearly  mad  with  grief,  and  she  was  not  allowed  to  go 
back  for  an  hour. 

Then  every  shadow  of  hope  had  vanished,  and  the 
room  had  been  arranged  fittingly  for  its  dead  occupant. 
The  day  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  Julien  and  the 
priest  were  standing  near  one  of  the  windows,  talking 


UNE  VIE  i6i 

in  whispers.  The  Widow  Dentu,  thoroughly  accus- 
tomed to  death,  was  ah-eady  comfortably  dozing  in  an 
armchair.  The  cure  went  to  meet  Jeanne  as  she  came 
into  the  room,  and  taking  both  her  hands  in  his,  he  ex- 
horted her  to  be  brave  under  this  sorrow,  and  attempted 
to  comfort  her  with  the  consolation  of  religion.  Then 
he  spoke  of  her  dead  mother's  good  life,  anci  offered  to 
pass  the  night  In  prayers  beside  the  body. 

But  Jeanne  refused  this  offer  as  well  as  she  could  for 
her  tears.  She  wanted  to  be  alone,  quite  alone,  Nvith 
her  mother  this  last  night. 

"  That  cannot  be,"  interposed  Julien;  "  we  will  watch 
beside  her  together." 

She  shook  her  head,  unable  to  speak  for  some  mo- 
ments; then  she  said: 

"  She  was  my  mother,  and  I  want  to  watch  beside 
her  alone." 

"Let  her  do  as  she  wants,"  whispered  the  doctor; 
*'  the  nurse  can  stay  in  the  next  room,"  and  Julien  anci 
the  priest,  thinking  of  their  night's  rest,  gave  in. 

The  Abbe  Picot  knelt  down,  prayed  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, then  rose  and  went  out  of  the  room,  saying,  "  She 
was  a  saintly  woman,"  in  the  same  tone  as  he  always 
said,  "  Dominus  vobiscum." 

"  Won't  you  have  some  dinner?  "  asked  the  vicomte 
in  a  perfectly  ordinary  voice. 

Jeanne,  not  thinking  he  was  speaking  to  her,  made 
no  answer. 

"  You  would  feel  much  better  If  you  would  eat  some- 
thing," he  went  on  again. 

"  Let  someone  go  for  papa,  directly,"  she  said  as  if 
she  had  not  heard  what  he  said;  and  he  went  out  of  the 
room  to  dispatch  a  mounted  messenger  to  Rouen. 

V— 11 


1 62  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

Jeanne  sank  into  a  sort  of  stupor,  as  if  she  were  wait- 
ing to  give  way  to  her  passion  of  regret  until  she  should 
be  alone  with  her  mother.  The  room  became  filled 
with  shadows.  The  Widow  Dentu  moved  noiselessly 
about,  arranging  everything  for  the  night,  and  at  last 
lighted  two  candles  which  she  placed  at  the  head  of 
the  bed  on  a  small  table  covered  with  a  white  cloth. 
Jeanne  seemed  unconscious  of  everything;  she  was  wait- 
ing until  she  should  be  alone. 

When  he  had  dined,  Julien  came  upstairs  again  and 
asked  for  the  second  time : 

"  Won't  you  have  something  to  eat?  " 
His  wife  shook  her  head,  and  he  sat  down  looking 
more  resigned  than  sad,  and  did  not  say  anything  more. 
They  all  three  sat  apart  from  one  another;  the  nurse 
dropped  off  to  sleep  every  now  and  then,  snored  for  a 
little  while,  then  awoke  with  a  start.  After  some  time 
Julien  rose  and  went  over  to  his  wife. 

"  Do  you  still  want  to  be  left  alone?  "  he  asked. 
She  eagerly  took  his  hand  in  hers:      "  Oh,  yes;  do 
leave  me,"  she  answered. 

He  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  whispered,  "  I  shall 
come  and  see  you  during  the  night,"  then  went  away 
with  the  Widow  Dentu,  who  wheeled  her  armchair  into 
the  next  room. 

Jeanne  closed  the  door  and  put  both  windows  wide 
open.  A  warm  breeze,  laden  with  the  sweet  smell  of 
the  hay,  blew  into  the  room,  and  on  the  lawn,  which 
had  been  mown  the  day  before,  she  could  see  the  heaps 
of  dry  grass  lying  in  the  moonlight.  She  turned  away 
from  the  window  and  went  back  to  the  bed,  for  the  soft, 
beautiful  night  seemed  to  mock  her  grief. 

Her  mother  was  no  longer  swollen  as  she  had  been 


UNE  VIE  163 

when  she  died;  she  looked  simply  asleep,  only  her  sleep 
was  more  peaceful  than  it  had  ever  been  before;  the 
wind  made  the  candles  flicker,  and  the  changing  shad- 
ows made  the  dead  face  look  as  though  It  moved  and 
lived  again.  As  Jeanne  gazed  at  it  the  memories  of 
her  early  childhood  came  crowding  Into  her  mind.  She 
could  see  again  her  mother  sitting  In  the  convent  parlor, 
holding  out  the  bag  of  cakes  she  had  brought  for  her 
little  girl;  she  thought  of  all  her  little  ways,  her  affec- 
tionate words,  the  way  she  used  to  move,  the  wrinkles 
that  came  round  her  eyes  when  she  laughed,  the  deep 
sigh  she  always  heaved  when  she  sat  down,  and  all  her 
little,  daily  habits,  and  as  she  stood  gazing  at  the  dead 
body  she  kept  repeating,  almost  mechanically:  "She 
is  dead;  she  Is  dead;"  until  at  last  she  realized  all  the 
horror  of  that  word. 

The  woman  who  was  lying  there  —  mamma  —  little 
mother  —  Madame  Adelaide,  was  dead  !  She  would 
never  move,  never  speak,  never  laugh,  never  say, 
"Good  morning,  Jeannette  " ;  never  sit  opposite  her 
husband  at  the  dinner  table  again.  She  was  dead. 
She  would  be  enclosed  In  a  coffin,  placed  beneath  the 
ground,  and  that  would  be  the  end;  they  would  never 
see  her  again.  It  could  not  be  possible  !  What!  She, 
her  daughter,  had  now  no  mother!  Had  she  Indeed 
lost  for  ever  this  dear  face,  the  first  she  had  ever  looked 
upon,  the  first  she  had  ever  loved,  this  kindly  loving 
mother,  whose  place  In  her  heart  could  never  be  filled? 
And  In  a  few  hours  even  this  still,  unconscious  face 
would  have  vanished,  and  then  there  would  be  nothing 
left  her  but  a  memory.  She  fell  on  her  knees  In  despair, 
wringing  her  hands  and  pressing  her  lips  to  the  bed. 
"  Oh,  mother,  mother!     My  darling  mother!  "  she 


1 64  A  WOiMAN'S  LIFE 

cried,  in  a  broken  voice  which  was  stifled  by  the  bed- 
covering. 

She  felt  she  was  going  mad;  mad,  like  the  night  she 
had  fled  into  the  snow.  She  rushed  to  the  window  to 
breathe  the  fresh  air  which  had  not  passed  over  the 
corpse  or  the  bed  on  which  it  lay.  The  new-mown  hay, 
the  trees,  the  waste  land  and  the  distant  sea  lay  peace- 
fully sleeping  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  tears  welled  up 
into  Jeanne's  eyes  as  she  looked  out  into  the  clear,  calm 
night.  She  went  back  to  her  seat  by  the  bedside  and 
held  her  mother's  dead  hand  in  hers,  as  if  she  were 
lying  ill  instead  of  dead.  Attracted  by  the  lighted  can- 
dles, a  big,  winged  insect  had  entered  through  the  open 
window  and  was  flying  about  the  room,  dashing  against 
the  wall  at  every  moment  with  a  faint  thud.  It  dis- 
turbed Jeanne,  and  she  looked  up  to  see  where  it  was, 
but  she  could  only  see  its  shadow  moving  over  the  white 
ceiling. 

Its  buzzing  suddenly  ceased,  and  then,  besides  the 
regular  ticking  of  the  clock,  Jeanne  noticed  another 
fainter  rustling  noise.  It  was  the  ticking  of  her  moth- 
er's watch,  which  had  been  forgotten  when  her  dress 
had  been  taken  off  and  thrown  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
and  the  idea  of  this  little  piece  of  mechanism  still  mov- 
ing while  her  mother  lay  dead,  sent  a  fresh  pang  of  an- 
guish through  her  heart.  She  looked  at  the  time.  It 
was  hardly  half-past  ten,  and  as  she  thought  of  the  long 
night  to  come,  she  was  seized  with  a  horrible  dread, 

She  began  to  think  of  her  own  life  —  of  Rosalie,  of 
Gilberte  —  of  all  her  illusions  which  had  been,  one  by 
one,  so  cruelly  destroyed.  Life  contained  nothing  but 
misery  and  pain,  misfortune  and  death;  there  was  noth- 
ing true,  nothing  honest,  nothing  but  what  gave  rise  to 


UNE  VIE  165 

suffering  and  tears.  Repose  and  happiness  could  only 
be  expected  in  another  existence,  when  the  soul  had  been 
delivered  from  its  early  trials.  Her  thoughts  turned 
to  the  unfathomable  mystery  of  the  soul,  but,  as  she 
reasoned  about  it,  her  poetic  theories  were  invariably 
upset  by  others,  just  as  poetic  and  just  as  unreal. 
Where  was  now  her  mother's  soul,  the  soul  which  had 
forsaken  this  still,  cold  body?  Perhaps  it  was  far 
away,  floating  in  space.  But  had  it  entirely  vanished 
like  the  perfume  from  a  withered  flower,  or  was  it  wan- 
dering like  some  invisible  bird  freed  from  its  cage? 
Had  it  returned  to  God,  or  was  it  scattered  among  the 
new  germs  of  creation?  It  might  be  very  near;  per- 
haps in  this  very  room,  hovering  around  the  inanimate 
body  it  had  left,  and  at  this  thought  Jeanne  fancied  she 
felt  a  breath,  as  if  a  spirit  had  passed  by  her.  Her 
blood  ran  cold  with  terror ;  she  did  not  dare  turn  round 
to  look  behind  her,  and  she  sat  motionless,  her  heart 
beating  wildly. 

At  that  moment  the  invisible  insect  again  commenced 
its  buzzing,  noisy  flight,  and  Jeanne  trembled  from  head 
to  foot  at  the  sound.  Then,  as  she  recognized  the 
noise,  she  felt  a  little  reassured,  and  rose  and  looked 
around.  Her  eyes  fell  on  the  escritoire  with  the 
sphinxes'  heads,  the  guardian  of  the  "  souvenirs."  As 
she  looked  at  it  she  thought  it  would  be  fulfilling  a  sa- 
cred, filial  duty,  which  would  please  her  mother  as  she 
looked  down  on  her  from  another  world,  to  read  these 
letters,  as  she  might  have  done  a  holy  book  during  this 
last  watch. 

She  knew  it  was  the  correspondence  of  her  grand- 
father and  grandmother,  whom  she  had  never  known; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  her  hands  would  join  theirs  across 


1 66  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

her  mother's  corpse,  and  so  a  sacred  chain  of  affection 
would  be  formed  between  those  who  had  died  so  long 
ago,  their  daughter  who  had  but  just  joined  them,  and 
her  child  who  was  still  on  earth. 

She  opened  the  escritoire  and  took  out  the  letters; 
they  had  been  carefully  tied  into  ten  little  packets,  which 
were  laid  side  by  side  in  the  lowest  drawer.  A  refine- 
ment of  sentimentality  prompted  her  to  place  them  all 
on  the  bed  in  the  baroness's  arms;  then  she  began  to 
read. 

They  were  old-fashioned  letters  with  the  perfume  of 
another  century  about  them,  such  as  are  treasured  up  in 
every  family.  The  first  commenced  "  My  dearie  " ; 
another  "My  little  darling";  then  came  some  begin- 
ning "  My  pet  " — "  My  beloved  daughter,"  then 
"  My  dear  child  "— "  My  dear  Adelaide  "— "  My  dear 
daughter,"  the  commencements  varying  as  the  letters 
had  been  addressed  to  the  child,  the  young  girl,  and, 
later  on,  to  the  young  wife.  They  were  all  full  of  fool- 
ish, loving  phrases,  and  news  about  a  thousand  insig- 
nificant, homely  events,  which,  to  a  stranger,  would  have 
seemed  too  trivial  to  mention:  "  Father  has  an  influ- 
enza; Hortense  has  burnt  her  finger;  Croquerat,  the  cat, 
is  dead;  the  fir  tree  which  stood  on  the  right-hand  side 
of  the  gate  has  been  cut  down;  mother  lost  her  mass 
book  as  she  was  coming  home  from  church,  she  thinks 
someone  must  have  stolen  it,"  and  they  talked  about 
people  whom  Jeanne  had  never  known,  but  whose  names 
were  vaguely  familiar  to  her. 

She  was  touched  by  these  simple  details  which  seemed 
to  reveal  all  her  mother's  life  and  inmost  thoughts  to 
her.  She  looked  at  the  corpse  as  it  lay  there,  and  sud- 
denly she  began  to  read  the  letters  aloud,  as  though  to 


UNE  VIE  167 

console  and  gladden  the  dead  heart  once  more;  and  a 
smile  of  happiness  seemed  to  light  up  the  face.  As  she 
finished  reading  them,  Jeanne  threw  the  letters  on  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  resolving  to  place  them  all  in  her 
mother's  coffin. 

She  untied  another  packet.  These  were  in  another 
handwriting,  and  the  first  ran  thus : 

"  I  cannot  live  without  your  kisses.  I  love  you 
madly." 

There  was  nothing  more,  not  even  a  signature. 
Jeanne  turned  the  paper  over,  unable  to  understand  it. 
It  was  addressed  clearly  enough  to  "  Madame  la  bar- 
onne  Le  Perthuis  des  Vauds." 

She  opened  the  next : 

"  Come  to-night  as  soon  as  he  has  gone  out.  We 
shall  have  at  least  one  hour  together.     I  adore  you." 

A  third: 

"  I  have  passed  a  night  of  longing  and  anguish.  I 
fancied  you  In  my  arms,  your  mouth  quivering  beneath 
mine,  your  eyes  looking  into  my  eyes.  And  then  I 
could  have  dashed  myself  from  the  window,  as  I 
thought  that,  at  that  very  moment,  you  were  sleeping 
beside  him,  at  the  mercy  of  his  caresses." 

Jeanne  stopped  In  amazement.  What  did  It  all 
mean?  To  whom  were  these  words  of  love  addressed? 
She  read  on,  finding  In  every  letter  the  same  distracted 
phrases,  the  same  assignations,  the  same  cautions,  and, 


1 68  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

at  the  end,  always  the  five  words :  "  Above  all,  burn 
this  letter."  At  last  she  came  to  an  ordinary  note, 
merely  accepting  an  invitation  to  dinner;  it  was  signed 
"  Paul  d'Ennemare."  Why,  that  was  the  man  of 
whom  the  baron  still  spoke  as  "  Poor  old  Paul,"  and 
whose  wife  had  been  the  baroness's  dearest  friend ! 

Then  into  Jeanne's  mind  came  a  suspicion  which  at 
once  changed  to  a  certainty  —  he  had  been  her  moth- 
er's lover !  With  a  sudden  gesture  of  loathing,  she 
threw  from  her  all  these  odious  letters,  as  she  would 
have  shaken  off  some  venomous  reptile,  and,  running  to 
the  window,  she  wept  bitterly.  All  her  strength  seemed 
to  have  left  her;  she  sank  on  the  ground,  and,  hiding 
her  face  in  the  curtains  to  stifle  her  moans,  she  sobbed 
in  an  agony  of  despair.  She  would  have  crouched  there 
the  whole  night  if  the  sound  of  someone  moving  in  the 
next  room  had  not  made  her  start  to  her  feet.  Per- 
haps it  was  her  father!  And  all  these  letters  were 
lying  on  the  bed  and  on  the  floor !  He  had  only  to 
come  in  and  open  one,  and  he  would  know  all ! 

She  seized  all  the  old,  yellow  papers  —  her  grand- 
parents' epistles,  the  love  letters,  those  she  had  not  un- 
folded, those  that  w^ere  still  lying  in  the  drawer  —  and 
threw  them  all  into  the  fireplace.  Then  she  took  one 
of  the  candles  which  were  burning  on  the  little  table, 
and  set  fire  to  this  heap  of  paper.  A  bright  flame 
sprang  up  at  once,  lighting  up  the  room,  the  bed  and  the 
corpse  with  a  bright,  flickering  light,  and  casting  on  the 
white  bed-curtain  a  dark,  trembling  shadow  of  the  rigid 
face  and  huge  body. 

When  there  was  nothing  left  but  a  heap  of  ashes  in 
the  bottom  of  the  grate,  Jeanne  went  and  sat  by  the 
window,  as  though  now  she  dare  not  sit  by  the  corpse. 


UNE  VIE  169 

The  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes,  and,  hiding  her  face 
in  her  hands,  she  moaned  out  in  heartbroken  tones: 
*'  Oh,  poor  mamma  !      Poor  mamma  !  " 

Then  a  terrible  thought  came  to  her:  Suppose  her 
mother,  by  some  strange  chance,  was  not  dead;  suppose 
she  was  only  in  a  trance-like  sleep  and  should  suddenly 
rise  and  speak !  Would  not  the  knowledge  of  this  hor- 
rible secret  lessen  her,  Jeanne's,  love  for  her  mother? 
Should  she  be  able  to  kiss  her  with  the  same  respect, 
and  regard  her  with  the  same  esteem  as  before?  No! 
She  knew  it  would  be  impossible;  and  the  thought  al- 
most broke  her  heart. 

The  night  wore  on;  the  stars  were  fading,  and  a  cool 
breeze  sprang  up.  The  moon  was  slowly  sinking  to- 
wards the  sea  over  which  she  was  shedding  her  silver 
light,  and  the  memory  of  that  other  night  she  had  passed 
at  the  window,  the  night  of  her  return  from  the  con- 
vent, came  back  to  Jeanne.  Ah !  how  far  away  was 
that  happy  time !  How  changed  everything  was,  and 
w^hat  a  different  future  lay  before  her  from  what  she 
had  pictured  then !  Over  the  sky  crept  a  faint,  tender 
tinge  of  pink,  and  the  brilliant  dawn  seemed  strange 
and  unnatural  to  her,  as  she  wondered  how  such  glori- 
ous sunrises  could  illumine  a  world  in  which  there  was 
no  joy  or  happiness. 

A  slight  sound  startled  her,  and  looking  round  she 
saw  Julien.  ■ 

"  Well,  are  you  not  very  tired?  "  he  said. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  feeling  glad  that  her  lonely 
vigil  had  come  to  an  end. 

"  Now  go  and  rest,"  said  her  husband. 

She  pressed  a  long  sorrowful  kiss  on  her  mother's 
face;  then  left  the  room. 


I70  A  WOiMAN'S  LIFE 

That  day  passed  in  attending  to  those  melancholy 
duties  that  always  surround  a  death;  the  baron  came 
in  the  evening,  and  cried  a  great  deal  over  his  wife. 
The  next  day  the  funeral  took  place;  Jeanne  pressed  her 
lips  to  the  clammy  forehead  for  the  last  time,  drew  the 
sheet  once  more  over  the  still  face,  saw  the  coffin  fas- 
tened down,  and  then  went  to  await  the  people  who 
were  to  attend  the  funeral. 

Gilberte  arrived  first,  and  threw  herself  into  Jeanne's 
arms,  sobbing  violently.  The  carriages  began  to  drive 
up,  and  voices  were  heard  in  the  hall.  The  room  grad- 
ually filled  w^th  women  with  whom  Jeanne  was  not  ac- 
quainted; then  the  Marquise  de  Coutelier  and  the 
Vicomtesse  de  Briseville  arrived,  and  went  up  to  her 
and  kissed  her.  She  suddenly  perceived  that  Aunt 
Lison  was  in  the  room,  and  she  gave  her  such  an  affec- 
tionate embrace,  that  the  old  maid  was  nearly  overcome. 
Julien  came  in  dressed  in  deep  mourning;  he  seemed 
very  busy,  and  very  pleased  that  all  these  people  had 
come.  He  whispered  some  question  to  his  wife  about 
the  arrangements,  and  added  in  a  low  tone : 

"  It  will  be  a  very  grand  funeral;  all  the  best  fami- 
lies are  here." 

Then  he  went  away  again,  bowing  to  the  ladies  as  he 
passed  down  the  room. 

Aunt  Lison  and  the  Comtesse  Gilberte  stayed  with 
Jeanne  while  the  burial  was  taking  place.  The  com- 
tesse repeatedly  kissed  her,  murmuring:  "  Poor  dar- 
ling, poor  darling,"  and  when  the  Comte  de  Fourville 
came  to  take  his  wife  home,  he  wept  as  if  he  had  lost 
his  own  mother. 


UNE  VIE  171 


X 


The  next  few  days  were  very  sad,  as  they  always 
must  be  directly  after  a  death.  The  absence  of  the 
familiar  face  from  its  accustomed  place  makes  the 
house  seem  empty,  and  each  time  the  eye  falls  on 
anything  the  dear,  dead  one  has  had  in  constant  use,  a 
fresh  pang  of  sorrow  darts  through  the  heart.  There 
is  the  empty  chair,  the  umbrella  still  standing  in  the  hall, 
the  glass  which  the  maid  has  not  yet  washed.  In  every 
room  there  is  something  lying  just  as  it  was  left  for  the 
last  time;  the  scissors,  an  odd  glove,  the  fingered  book, 
the  numberless  other  objects,  which,  insignificant  in 
themselves,  become  a  source  of  sharp  pain  because  they 
recall  so  vividly  the  loved  one  who  has  passed  away. 
And  the  voice  rings  in  one's  ears  till  it  seems  almost  a 
reality,  but  there  is  no  escape  from  the  house  haunted 
by  this  presence,  for  others  are  suffering  also,  and  all 
must  stay  and  suffer  with  each  other. 

In  addition  to  her  natural  grief,  Jeanne  had  to  bear 
the  pain  of  her  discovery.  She  was  always  thinking  of 
it,  and  the  terrible  secret  increased  her  former  sense  of 
desolation  tenfold,  for  now  she  felt  that  she  could  never 
put  her  trust  or  confidence  in  anyone  again. 

The  baron  soon  went  away,  thinking  to  find  relief 
from  the  grief  which  was  deadening  all  his  faculties  in 
change  of  air  and  change  of  scene,  and  the  household 
at  Les  Peuples  resumed  its  quiet  regular  life  again. 

Then  Paul  fell  ill,  and  Jeanne  passed  twelve  days  In 
an  agony  of  fear,  unable  to  sleep  and  scarcely  touching 
food.  The  boy  got  well,  but  there  remained  the 
thought  that  he  might  die.  What  should  she  do  if  he 
^'d?     What  would  become  of  her?     Gradually  there 


172  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

came  a  vague  longing  for  another  child,  and  soon  she 
could  think  of  nothing  else;  she  had  always  fancied  she 
should  like  two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  and  the  idea 
of  having  a  daughter  haunted  her.  But  since  Rosalie 
had  been  sent  away,  she  had  lived  quite  apart  from  her 
husband,  and  at  the  present  moment  it  seemed  utterly 
Impossible  to  renew  their  former  relations.  Julien's 
affections  were  centered  elsewhere;  she  knew  that;  and, 
on  her  side,  the  mere  thought  of  having  to  submit  to  his 
caresses  again,  made  her  shudder  with  disgust. 

Still,  she  would  have  overcome  her  repugnance  (so 
tormented  was  she  by  the  desire  of  another  child)  if 
she  could  have  seen  any  way  to  bring  about  the  Intimacy 
she  desired;  but  she  would  have  died  rather  than  let 
her  husband  guess  what  was  in  her  thoughts,  and  he 
nev^er  seemed  to  dream  of  approaching  her  now.  Per- 
haps she  would  have  given  up  the  idea  had  not  each 
night  the  vision  of  a  daughter  playing  with  Paul  under 
the  plane  tree  appeared  to  her.  Sometimes  she  felt  she 
must  get  up  and  join  her  husband  In  his  room;  twice,  in 
fact,  she  did  glide  to  his  door,  but  each  time  she  came 
back,  without  having  turned  the  handle,  her  face  burn- 
ing with  shame. 

The  baron  was  away,  her  mother  was  dead,  and  she 
had  no  one  to  whom  she  could  confide  this  delicate  se- 
cret. She  made  up  her  mind,  at  last,  to  tell  the  Abbe 
Picot  her  difficulty,  under  the  seal  of  confession.  She 
went  to  him  one  day  and  found  him  in  his  little  garden, 
reading  his  breviary  among  the  fruit  trees.  She  talked 
to  him  for  a  few  minutes  about  one  thing  and  another, 
then,  "  Monsieur  I'abbe,  I  want  to  confess,"  she  said, 
with  a  deep  blush. 

He  put  on  his  spectacles  to  look  at  her  better,  for  the 


UNE  VIE  173 

request  astonished  him.  "  I  don't  think  you  can  have 
any  very  heavy  sins  on  your  conscience,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile. 

"  No,  but  I  want  to  ask  your  advice  on  a  subject  so  — 
so  painful  to  enter  upon,  that  I  dare  not  talk  about  it  in 
an  ordinary  way,"  she  replied,  feeling  very  confused. 

He  put  on  his  priestly  air  immediately. 

"  Very  well,  my  daughter,  come  to  the  confessional, 
and  I  will  hear  you  there." 

But  she  suddenly  felt  a  scruple  at  talking  of  such 
things  in  the  quietness  of  an  empty  church. 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  cure  —  after  all  —  if  you  will  let 
me  —  I  can  tell  you  here  what  I  want  to  say.  See,  we 
will  go  and  sit  in  your  little  arbor  over  there." 

As  they  walked  slowly  over  to  the  arbor  she  tried  to 
find  the  words  in  which  she  could  best  begin  her  confi- 
dence. They  sat  down,  and  she  commenced,  as  if  she 
were  confessing,  "  My  father,"  then  hesitated,  said 
again,  "  My  father,"  then  stopped  altogether,  too 
ashamed  to  continue. 

The  priest  crossed  his  hands  over  his  stomach  and 
waited  for  her  to  go  on.  "  Well,  my  daughter,"  he 
said,  perceiving  her  embarrassment,  "  you  seem  afraid 
to  say  what  it  is;  come  now,  be  brave." 

"  My  father,  I  want  to  have  another  child,"  she  said 
abruptly,  like  a  coward  throwing  himself  headlong  into 
the  danger  he  dreads. 

The  priest,  hardly  understanding  what  she  meant, 
made  no  answer,  and  she  tried  to  explain  herself,  but, 
in  her  confusion,  her  words  became  more  and  more  dif- 
ficult to  understand. 

I  am  quite  alone  in  life  now;  my  father  and  my  hus- 
band do  not  agree;  my  mother  is  dead,  and  —  and  — 


174  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

the  other  day  I  almost  lost  my  son,"  she  whispered  with 
a  shudder.  "  What  would  have  become  of  me  if  he 
had  died?" 

The  priest  looked  at  her  in  bewilderment.  "  There, 
there;  come  to  the  point,"  he  said. 

"  I  want  to  have  another  child,"  she  repeated. 

The  abbe  was  used  to  the  coarse  pleasantries  of  the 
peasants,  who  did  not  mind  what  they  said  before  him, 
and  he  answered,  with  a  sly  smile  and  a  knowing  shake 
of  the  head :  "  Well,  I  don't  think  there  need  be  much 
difficulty  about  that." 

She  raised  her  clear  eyes  to  his  and  said,  hesitatingly: 

"But  —  but  —  don't  you  understand  that  since  — 
since  that  trouble  with  —  the  —  maid  —  my  husband 
and  I  live  —  quite  apart." 

These  words  came  as  a  revelation  to  the  priest,  ac- 
customed as  he  was  to  the  promiscuity  and  easy  morals 
of  the  peasants.  Then  he  thought  he  could  guess  what 
the  young  wife  really  wanted,  and  he  looked  at  her  out 
of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  pitying  her,  and  sympathizing 
with  her  distress. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know  exactly  what  you  mean.  I  can 
quite  understand  that  you  should  find  your  —  your  wid- 
owhood hard  to  bear.  You  are  young,  healthy,  and  it 
is  only  natural;  very  natural."  He  began  to  smile,  his 
lively  nature  getting  the  better  of  him.  "  Besides,  the 
Church  allows  these  feelings,  sometimes,"  he  went  on, 
gently  tapping  Jeanne's  hands.  "What  are  we  told? 
That  carnal  desires  may  be  satisfied  lawfully  in  wedlock 
only.     Well,  you  are  married,  are  you  not?  " 

She,  in  her  turn,  had  not  at  first  understood  what  his 
words  implied,  but  when  his  meaning  dawned  on  her, 


UNE  VIE  175 

her  face  became  crimson,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Oh!  Monsieur  le  cure,  what  do  you  mean?  What 
do  you  think?  I  assure  you  —  I  assure — "  and  she 
could  not  continue  for  her  sobs. 

Her  emotion  surprised  the  abbe,  and  he  tried  to  con- 
sole her. 

"There,  there,"  he  said;  "  I  did  not  mean  to  pain 
you.  I  was  only  joking,  and  there's  no  harm  in  a  joke 
between  honest  people.  But  leave  it  all  in  my  hands, 
and  I  will  speak  to  M.  Jullen." 

She  did  not  know  what  to  say.  She  wished,  now, 
that  she  could  refuse  his  help,  for  she  feared  his  want 
of  tact  would  only  increase  her  difficulties,  but  she  did 
not  dare  say  anything. 

"  Thank  you,  Monsieur  le  cure,"  she  stammered;  and 
then  hurried  away. 

The  next  week  was  passed  by  Jeanne  in  an  agony  of 
doubts  and  fears.  Then  one  evening,  Julien  watched 
her  all  through  dinner  with  an  amused  smile  on  his  lips, 
and  evinced  towards  her  a  gallantry  which  was  faintly 
tinged  with  irony.  After  dinner  they  walked  up  and 
down  the  baroness's  avenue,  and  he  whispered  in  her 
ear: 

"  Then  we  are  going  to  be  friends  again?  " 

She  made  no  answer,  and  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  where  there  was  a  straight  line,  hardly  so 
thickly  covered  with  grass  as  the  rest  of  the  path.  It 
was  the  line  traced  by  the  baroness's  foot,  which  was 
gradually  being  effaced,  just  as  her  memory  was  fading, 
and,  as  she  looked  at  it,  Jeanne's  heart  felt  bursting  with 
grief;  she  seemed  so  lonely,  so  separated  from  every- 
body. 


176  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

"  For  my  part,  I  am  only  too  pleased,"  continued 
Jiilien.  "  I  should  have  proposed  It  before,  but  I  was 
afraid  of  displeasing  you." 

The  sun  was  setting;  it  was  a  mild,  soft  evening,  and 
Jeanne  longed  to  rest  her  head  on  some  loving  heart, 
and  there  sob  out  her  sorrows.  She  threw  herself  into 
Julien's  arms,  her  breast  heaving,  and  the  tears  stream- 
ing from  her  eyes.  He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  think- 
ing this  outburst  was  occasioned  by  the  love  she  still  felt 
for  him,  and,  unable  to  see  her  face,  he  dropped  a  con- 
descending kiss  upon  her  hair.  Then  they  went  indoors 
in  silence  and  he  followed  her  to  her  room. 

To  him  this  renewal  of  their  former  relations  was  a 
duty,  though  hardly  an  unpleasant  one,  while  she  sub- 
mitted to  his  embraces  as  a  disgusting,  painful  necessity, 
and  resolved  to  put  an  end  to  them  for  ever,  as  soon 
as  her  object  was  accomplished.  Soon,  however,  she 
found  that  her  husband's  caresses  were  not  like  they 
used  to  be ;  they  may  have  been  more  refined,  they  cer- 
tainly were  not  so  complete.  He  treated  her  like  a  carC' 
ful  lover,  instead  of  being  an  easy  husband. 

"  Why  do  you  not  give  yourself  up  to  me  as  you  used 
to  do?  "  she  whispered  one  night,  her  lips  close  to  his. 

"  To  keep  you  out  of  the  family  way,  of  course,"  he 
answered,  with  a  chuckle. 

She  started. 

"  Don't  you  wish  for  any  more  children,  then?  "  she 
asked. 

His  amazement  was  so  great,  that,  for  a  moment,  he 
was  silent;  then: 

"Eh?  What  do  you  say?"  he  exclaimed.  "Are 
you  in  your  right  senses?  Another  child?  I  should 
think  not,  indeed!     We've  already  got  one  too  many, 


UNE  VIE  177 

squalling  and  costing  money,  and  bothering  everybody. 
Another  child  !     No,  thank  you  !  " 

She  clasped  him  in  her  arms,  pressed  her  lips  to  his 
and  m.urmured : 

"  Oh  I    I  entreat  you,  make  me  a  mother  once  more." 

"  Don't  be  so  foolish,"  he  replied,  angrily.  "  Pray 
don't  let  me  hear  any  more  of  this  nonsense." 

She  said  no  more,  but  she  resolved  to  trick  him  into 
giving  her  the  happiness  she  desired.  She  tried  to  pro- 
long her  kisses,  and  threw  her  arms  passionately  around 
him,  pressing  'him  to  her,  and  pretending  a  delirium  of 
love  she  was  very  far  from  feeling.  She  tried  every 
means  to  make  him  lose  control  over  himself,  but  she 
never  once  succeeded. 

Tormented  more  and  more  by  her  desire,  driven  to 
extremities,  and  ready  to  do  or  dare  anything  to  gain 
her  ends,  she  went  again  to  the  Abbe  Picot.  She  found 
him  just  finishing  lunch,  with  his  face  crimson  from  indi- 
gestion. He  looked  up  as  she  came  in,  and,  anxious  to 
hear  the  result  of  his  mediation: 

"Well?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  My  husband  does  not  want  any  more  children,"  she 
answered  at  once  without  any  of  the  hesitation  or 
shame-faced  timidity  she  had  shown  before. 

The  abbe  got  very  interested,  and  turned  towards  her, 
ready  to  hear  once  more  of  those  secrets  of  wedded  life, 
the  revelation  of  which  made  the  task  of  confessing  so 
pleasant  to  him. 

"  How  is  that?  "  he  asked. 

In  spite  of  her  determination  to  tell  him  all,  Jeanne 
hardly  knew  how  to  explain  herself. 

"  He  —  he  refuses  —  to  make  me  a  mother." 

The  priest  understood  at  once;  It  was  not  the  first 


178  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

time  he  had  heard  of  such  things,  but  he  asked  for  all 
the  details,  and  enjoyed  them  as  a  hungry  man  would  a 
feast.  When  he  had  heard  all,  he  reflected  for  a  few 
moments,  then  said  in  the  calm,  matter-of-fact  tone  he 
might  have  used  if  he  had  been  speaking  of  the  best  way 
to  insure  a  good  harvest. 

"  My  dear  child,  the  only  thing  you  can  do  Is  to  make 
your  husband  believe  you  are  pregnant;  then  he  will 
cease  his  precautions,  and  you  will  become  so  in  reality." 

Jeanne  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  but,  deter- 
mined to  be  ready  for  every  emergency,  she  argued: 

"  But  —  but  suppose  he  should  not  believe  me?  " 

The  cure  knew  too  well  the  inns  and  outs  of  human 
nature  not  to  have  an  answer  for  that. 

"  Tell  everybody  you  are  enceinte.  When  he  sees 
that  everyone  else  believes  It,  he  will  soon  believe  it 
himself.  You  will  be  doing  no  wrong,"  he  added,  to 
quiet  his  conscience  for  advising  this  deception;  "the 
Church  does  not  permit  any  connection  between  man 
and  woman,  except  for  the  purpose  of  procreation." 

Jeanne  followed  the  priest's  artful  device,  and,  a  fort- 
night later,  told  Julien  she  thought  she  was  enceinte. 
He  started  up. 

"  It  isn't  possible  !     You  can't  be  !  " 

She  gave  him  her  reasons  for  thinking  so. 

"  Bah!  "  he  answered.     "  You  wait  a  little  while." 

Every  morning  he  asked,  "Well?"  but  she  always 
replied:  "  No,  not  yet;  I  am  very  much  mistaken  if  I 
am  not  enceinte^ 

He  also  began  to  think  so,  and  his  surprise  was  only 
equaled  by  his  annoyance. 

"  Well,  I  can't  understand  it,"  was  all  he  could  say. 
*'  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  know  how  It  can  have  happened." 


UNE  VIE  179 

At  the  end  of  a  month  she  began  to  tell  people  the 
news,  but  she  said  nothing  about  it  to  the  Comtesse  Gil- 
berte,  for  she  felt  an  old  feeling  of  delicacy  in  mention- 
ing it  to  her.  At  the  very  first  suspicion  of  his  wife's 
pregnancy,  Julien  had  ceased  to  touch  her,  then,  an- 
grily thinking,  "  Well,  at  any  rate,  this  brat  wasn't 
wanted,"  he  made  up  his  mind  to  make  the  best  of  it, 
and  recommenced  his  visits  to  his  wife's  room.  Every- 
thing happened  as  the  priest  had  predicted,  and  Jeanne 
found  she  would  a  second  time  become  a  mother. 
Then,  in  a  transport  of  joy,  she  took  a  vow  of  eternal 
chastity  as  a  token  of  her  rapturous  gratitude  to  the 
distant  divinity  she  adored,  and  thenceforth  closed  her 
door  to  her  husband. 

She  again  felt  almost  happy.  She  could  hardly  be- 
lieve that  it  was  barely  two  months  since  her  mother 
had  died,  and  that  only  such  a  short  time  before  she 
had  thought  herself  inconsolable.  Now  her  wounded 
heart  was  nearly  healed,  and  her  grief  had  disappeared, 
while  in  its  place  was  merely  a  vague  melancholy,  like 
the  shadow  of  a  great  sorrow  resting  over  her  life.  It 
seemed  impossible  that  any  other  catastrophe  could  hap- 
pen now;  her  children  would  grow  up  and  surround  her 
old  age  with  their  affection,  and  her  husband,  could  go 
his  way  while  she  went  hers. 

Towards  the  end  of  September  the  Abbe  Picot  came 
to  the  chateau,  in  a  new  cassock  which  had  only  one 
week's  stains  upon  it,  to  introduce  his  successor,  the 
Abbe  Tolbiac.  The  latter  was  small,  thin,  and  very 
young,  with  hollow,  black-encircled  eyes  which  beto- 
kened the  depth  and  violence  of  hie  feelings,  and  a  de- 
cisive way  of  speaking  as  If  there  could  be  no  appeal 
from  his  opinion.     The  Abbe  Picot  had  been  appointed 


i8o  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

doyen  of  Goderville.  Jeanne  felt  very  sad  at  the 
thought  of  his  departure;  he  was  connected,  in  her 
thoughts,  with  all  the  chief  events  of  her  life,  for  he  had 
married  her,  christened  Paul,  and  buried  the  baroness. 
She  liked  him  because  he  was  always  good-tempered 
and  unaffected,  and  she  could  not  Imagine  Etouvent 
without  the  Abbe  Picot's  fat  figure  trotting  past  the 
farms.  He  himself  did  not  seem  very  rejoiced  at  his 
adv^ancement. 

"  I  have  been  here  eighteen  years,  Madame  la  Com- 
tesse,"  he  said,  "  and  it  grieves  me  to  go  to  another 
place.  Oh !  this  living  is  not  worth  much,  I  know,  and 
as  for  the  people  —  well,  the  men  have  no  more  re- 
ligion than  they  ought  to  have,  the  women  are  not  so 
moral  as  they  might  be,  and  the  girls  never  dream  of 
being  married  until  it  is  too  late  for  them  to  wear  a 
wreath  of  orange  blossoms;  still,  I  love  the  place." 

The  new  cure  had  been  fidgeting  impatiently  during 
this  speech,  and  his  face  had  turned  very  red. 

"  I  shall  soon  have  all  that  changed,"  he  said, 
abruptly,  as  soon  as  the  other  priest  had  finished  speak- 
ing; and  he  looked  like  an  angry  child  in  his  worn  but 
spotless  cassock,  so  thin  and  small  was  he. 

The  Abbe  Picot  looked  at  him  sideways,  as  he  always 
did  when  anything  amused  him. 

"  Listen,  I'abbe,"  he  said.  "  You  will  have  to  chain 
up  your  parishioners  if  you  want  to  prevent  that  sort 
of  thing;  and  I  don't  believe  even  that  would  be  any 
good." 

"  We  shall  see,"  answered  the  little  priest  in  a  cut- 
ting tone. 

The  old  cure  smiled  and  slowly  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"Age  and  experience  will  alter  your  views,  I'abbe; 


UNE  VIE  i8i 

if  they  don't  you  will  only  estrange  the  few  good 
Churchmen  you  have.  When  I  see  a  girl  come  to  mass 
with  a  waist  bigger  than  it  ought  to  be,  I  say  to  myself 
—  '  \Yell,  she  is  going  to  give  me  another  soul  to  look 
after;' — and  I  try  to  marry  her.  You  can't  prevent 
them  going  wrong,  but  you  can  find  out  the  father  of  the 
child  and  prevent  him  forsaking  the  mother.  Marry 
them,  I'abbe,  marry  them,  and  don't  trouble  yourself 
about  anything  else." 

"  We  will  not  argue  on  this  point,  for  we  should 
never  agree,"  answered  the  new  cure,  a  little  roughly; 
and  the  Abbe  Picot  again  began  to  express  his  regret  at 
leaving  the  village,  and  the  sea  which  he  could  see  from 
the  vicarage  windows,  and  the  little  funnel-shaped  val- 
leys, where  he  went  to  read  his  breviary  and  where  he 
could  see  the  boats  in  the  distance.  Then  the  two 
priests  rose  to  go,  and  the  Abbe  Picot  kissed  Jeanne, 
who  nearly  cried  when  she  said  good-bye. 

A  week  afterwards,  the  Abbe  Tolbiac  called  again. 
He  spoke  of  the  reforms  he  was  bringing  about  as  if 
he  were  a  prince  taking  possession  of  his  kingdom. 
He  begged  the  vicomtesse  to  communicate  on  all  the 
days  appointed  by  the  Church,  and  to  attend  mass 
regularly  on  Sundays. 

"  You  and  I  are  at  the  head  of  the  parish,"  he  said 
"  and  we  ought  to  rule  it,   and  always  set  it  a  good 
example;  but,    if  we  wish   to   have   any   influence,    we 
must  be  united.     If  the  Church  and  the  chateau  sup- 
port each  other,  the  cottage  will  fear  and  obey  us." 

Jeanne's  religion  was  simply  a  matter  of  sentiment; 
she  had  merely  the  dreamy  faith  that  a  woman  never 
quite  loses,  and  if  she  performed  any  religious  duties 
at  all  it  was  only  because  she  had  been  so  used  to  them 


1 82  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

at  the  convent,  for  the  baron's  carping  philosophy  had 
long  ago  overthrown  all  her  convictions.  The  Abbe 
Picot  had  always  been  contented  with  the  little  she  did 
do,  and  never  chid  her  for  not  confessing  or  attend- 
ing mass  oftener;  but  when  the  Abbe  Tolbiac  did  not 
see  her  at  church  on  the  Sunday,  he  hastened  to  the 
chateau  to  question  and  reprimand  her.  She  did  not 
wish  to  quarrel  with  the  cure,  so  she  promised  to  be 
more  attentive  to  the  services,  inwardly  resolving  to 
go  regularly  only  for  a  few  weeks,  out  of  good  nature. 

Little  by  little,  however,  she  fell  into  the  habit  of 
frequenting  the  church,  and,  in  a  short  time,  she  was 
entirely  under  the  influence  of  the  delicate-looking, 
strong-willed  priest.  His  zeal  and  enthusiasm  appealed 
to  her  love  of  everything  pertaining  to  mysticism,  and 
he  seemed  to  make  the  chord  of  religious  poetry,  which 
she  possessed  in  common  with  every  woman,  vibrate 
within  her.  His  austerity,  his  contempt  for  every 
luxury  and  sensuality,  his  disdain  for  the  things  that 
usually  occupy  the  thoughts  of  men,  his  love  of  God, 
his  youthful,  intolerant  inexperience,  his  scathing  words, 
his  inflexible  will  made  Jeanne  compare  him,  in  her 
mind,  to  the  early  martyrs;  and  she,  who  had  already 
suffered  so  much,  whose  eyes  had  been  so  rudely  opened 
to  the  deceptions  of  life,  let  herself  be  completely  ruled 
by  the  rigid  fanaticism  of  this  boy  who  was  the  minister 
of  Heaven.  He  led  her  to  the  feet  of  Christ  the 
Consoler,  teaching  her  how  the  holy  joys  of  religion 
could  alleviate  all  her  sorrows,  and,  as  she  knelt  in  the 
confessional  she  humbled  herself  and  felt  little  and  weak 
before  this  priest,  who  looked  about  fifteen  years  old. 

Soon    he   y/as    detested    by   the    whole    country-side. 


UNE  VIE  183 

With  no  pity  for  his  own  weaknesses,  he  showed  a 
violent  intolerance  for  those  of  others.  The  thing 
above  all  others  that  roused  his  anger  and  indignation 
was  —  love.  He  denounced  it  from  the  pulpit  in 
crude,  ecclesiastical  terms,  thundering  out  terrible  judg- 
ments against  concupiscence  over  the  heads  of  his  rustic 
audience;  and,  as  tl:fce  pictures  he  portrayed  in  his  fury 
persistently  haunted  his  mind,  he  trembled  with  rage 
and  stamped  his  foot  In  anger.  The  grown-up  girls 
and  the  young  fellows  cast  side-long  glances  at  each 
other  across  the  aisle;  and  the  old  peasants,  who  liked 
to  joke  about  such  m.atters,  expressed  their  disapproval 
of  the  little  cure's  intolerance  as  they  walked  back  to 
their  farms  after  service  with  their  wives  and  sons. 

The  whole  country  was  in  an  uproar.  The  priest's 
severity  and  the  harsh  penances  he  inflicted  at  confession 
were  rumored  about,  and,  as  he  obstinately  refused  to 
grant  absolution  to  the  girls  whose  chastity  was  not  im- 
maculate, smiles  accompanied  the  whispers.  When,  at 
the  holy  festivals,  several  of  the  youths  and  girls  stayed 
in  their  seats  instead  of  going  to  communicate  with  the 
others,  most  of  the  congregation  laughed  outright  as 
they  looked  at  them.  He  began  to  watch  for  lovers 
like  a  keeper  on  the  look-out  for  poachers,  and  on 
moonlight  nights  he  hunted  up  the  couples  along  the 
ditches,  behind  the  barns  and  among  the  long  grass  on 
the  hill-sides.  One  night  he  came  upon  two  who  did 
not  cease  their  love-making  even  before  him ;  they  were 
strolling  along  a  ditch  filled  with  stones,  with  their  arms 
round  one  another,  kissing  each  other  as  they  walked, 

"Will  you  stop  that,  you  vagabonds?"  cried  the 
abbe. 


1 84  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

"  You  mind  yer  own  bus'ness,  M'sieu  I'cure,"  re= 
plied  the  lad,  turning  round.  "  This  ain't  nothin'  to 
do  with  you." 

The  abbe  picked  up  some  stones  and  threw  them  at 
the  couple  as  he  might  hav^e  done  at  stray  dogs,  and 
they  both  ran  oft",  laughing.  The  next  Sunday  the 
priest  mentioned  them  by  name  before  the  whole  con- 
gregation. All  the  young  fellows  soon  ceased  to  at- 
tend mass. 

The  cure  dined  at  the  chateau  every  Thursday,  but 
he  very  often  went  there  on  other  days  to  talk  to  his 
penitente.  Jeanne  became  as  ardent  and  as  enthusiastic 
as  he  as  she  discussed  the  mysteries  of  a  future  existence, 
and  grew  familiar  with  all  the  old  and  complicated 
arguments  employed  in  religious  controversy.  They 
would  both  walk  along  the  baroness's  avenue  talking  of 
Christ  and  the  Apostles,  of  the  Virgin  Mary  and  of  the 
Fathers  of  the  Church  as  if  they  had  really  known  them. 
Sometimes  they  stopped  their  walk  to  ask  each  other 
profound  questions,  and  then  Jeanne  would  wander  oft 
into  sentimental  arguments,  and  the  cure  would  reason 
like  a  lawyer  possessed  with  the  mania  of  proving  the 
possibility  of  squaring  the  circle. 

Julien  treated  the  new  cure  with  great  respect. 
"  That's  the  sort  of  a  priest  I  like,"  he  was  continually 
saying.  "  Half-measures  don't  do  for  him,"  and  he 
zealously  set  a  good  example  by  frequently  confessing 
and  communicating.  Hardly  a  day  passed  now  without 
the  vicomte  going  to  the  Fourvilles,  either  to  shoot  with 
the  comte,  who  could  not  do  without  him,  or  to  ride  with 
the  comtesse  regardless  of  rain  and  bad  weather. 

"They  are  riding-mad,"  remarked  the  comte;  "but 
the  exercise  does  my  wife  good  '' 


UNE  VIE  185 

The  baron  returned  to  Les  Peuples  about  the  middle 
of  November.  He  seemed  a  different  man,  he  had 
aged  so  much  and  was  so  low-spirited;  he  was  fonder 
than  ever  of  his  daughter,  as  if  the  last  few  months  of 
melancholy  solitude  had  caused  in  him  an  imperative 
need  of  affection  and  tenderness.  Jeanne  told  him 
nothing  about  her  new  ideas,  her  intimacy  with  the  Abbe 
Tolbiac,  or  her  religious  enthusiasm,  but  the  first  time 
he  saw  the  priest,  he  felt  an  invincible  dislike  for  him, 
and  when  his  daughter  asked  him  in  the  evening : 
*'  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  him?  " 

"He  is  like  an  inquisitor!"  he  answered.  "He 
seems  to  me  a  very  dangerous  man." 

When  the  peasants  told  him  about  the  young  priest's 
harshness  and  bigotry  and  the  sort  of  war  of  persecu- 
tion he  waged  against  natural  laws  and  instincts,  his 
dislike  changed  to  a  violent  hatred.  He,  the  baron, 
belonged  to  the  school  of  philosophers  who  worship 
nature;  to  him  it  seemed  something  touching,  when  he 
saw  two  animals  unite,  and  he  was  always  ready  to  fall 
on  his  knees  before  the  sort  of  pantheistic  God  he  wor- 
shiped; but  he  hated  the  catholic  conception  of  a  God, 
Who  has  petty  schemes,  and  gives  way  to  tyrannical 
anger  and  indulges  in  mean  revenge;  a  God,  in  fact. 
Who  seemed  less  to  him  than  that  boundless  omnipo- 
tent nature,  which  is  at  once  life,  light,  earth,  thought, 
plant,  rock,  man,  air,  animal,  planet,  god  and  insect, 
that  nature  which  produces  all  things  in  such  bountiful 
profusion,  fitting  each  atom  to  the  place  it  is  to  occupy 
in  space,  be  that  position  close  to  or  far  from  the  suns 
which  heat  the  worlds.  Nature  contained  the  germ  of 
everything,  and  she  brought  forth  life  and  thought,  as 
trees  bear  flowers  and  fruit. 


i86  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

To  the  baron,  therefore,  reproduction  was  a  great 
law  of  Nature,  and  to  be  respected  as  the  sacred  and 
divine  act  which  accomplished  the  constant,  though  un- 
expressed will  of  this  Universal  Being;  and  he  at  once 
began  a  campaign  against  this  priest  who  opposed  the 
laws  of  creation.  It  grieved  Jeanne  to  the  heart,  and 
she  prayed  to  the  Lord,  and  implored  her  father  not  to 
run  counter  to  the  cure,  but  the  baron  always  answered : 

"  It  is  everyone's  right  and  duty  to  fight  against 
such  men,  for  they  are  not  like  human  creatures.  They 
are  not  human,"  he  repeated,  shaking  his  long  vvhite 
hair.  "  They  understand  nothing  of  life,  and  their 
conduct  is  entirely  influenced  by  their  harmful  dreams, 
which  are  contrary  to  Nature."  And  he  pronounced 
"  contrary  to  Nature  "  as  if  he  were  uttering  a  curse. 

The  priest  had  at  owce  recognized  in  him>  an  enemy, 
and,  as  he  wished  to  remain  master  of  the  chateau  and 
its  young  mistress,  he  temporized,  feeling  sure  of  vic- 
tory in  the  end.  By  chance  he  had  discovered  the 
liaison  between  Julien  and  Gilberte,  and  his  one  idea 
was  to  break  it  off  by  no  matter  what  means.  He  came 
to  see  Jeanne  one  day  towards  the  end  of  the  wet,  mild 
winter,  and,  after  a  long  talk  on  the  mystery  of  life, 
he  asked  her  to  unite  with  him  in  fighting  against  and 
destroying  the  wickedness  which  was  in  her  own  family, 
and  so  save  two  souls  which  were  in  danger.  She 
asked  him  vv'hat  he  meant. 

"  The  hour  has  not  come  for  me  to  reveal  all  to  you," 
he  replied;  "but  I  will  see  you  again  soon,"  and  with 
that  he  abruptly  left  her. 

He  came  again  in  a  few  days,  and  spoke  in  vague 
terms  of  a  disgraceful  connection  between  people  whose 
conduct    ought  to  be  irreproachablco     It  was  the  duty, 


UNE  VIE  187 

he  said,  of  those  who  were  aware  of  what  was  going  on, 
to  use  every  means  to  put  an  end  to  it.  He  used  all 
sorts  of  lofty  arguments,  and  then,  taking  Jeanne's 
hand,  adjured  her  to  open  her  eyes,  to  understand  and 
to  help  him. 

This  time  Jeanne  saw  what  he  meant,  but  terrified  at 
the  thought  of  all  the  trouble  that  might  be  brought 
to  her  home,  which  was  now  so  peaceful,  she  pretended 
not  to  know  to  what  he  was  alluding.  Then  he  hesi- 
tated no  longer,  but  spoke  In  terms  there  could  be  no 
misunderstanding. 

"  I  am  going  to  perform  a  very  painful  duty, 
Madame  la  comtesse,  but  I  cannot  leave  it  undone. 
The  position  I  hold  forbids  me  to  leave  you  in  ignorance 
of  the  sin  you  can  prevent.  Learn  that  your  husband 
cherishes  a  criminal  affection  for  Madame  de  Four- 
ville." 

Jeanne  only  bent  her  head  in  feeble  resignation, 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do?  "  asked  the  priest. 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do.  Monsieur  I'abbe?" 
she  murmured. 

"  Throw  yourself  in  the  way  as  an  obstacle  to  this 
guilty  love,"  he  answered,  violently. 

She  began  to  cry,  and  said  in  a  broken  voice: 

"  But  he  has  deceived  me  before  with  a  servant;  he 
wouldn't  listen  to  me;  he  doesn't  love  mc  now;  he  ill- 
treats  me  if  I  manifest  any  desire  that  does  not  please 
him,  so  what  can  I  do?  " 

The  cure  did  not  make  any  direct  answer  to  this 
appeal. 

"  Then  you  bow  before  this  sin !  You  submit  to  it !  " 
he  exclaimed.  "  You  consent  to  and  tolerate  adultery 
under  your  own  roof !     The  crime  is  being  perpetrated 


1 88  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

before  your  eyes,  and  you  refuse  to  see  It!  Are  you  a 
Christian  woman?     Are  you  a  wife  and  a  mother?  " 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do?  "  she  sobbed. 

"  Anything  rather  than  allow  this  sin  to  continue,'* 
he  replied.  "  Anything,  I  tell  you.  Leave  him.  Flee 
from  this  house  which  has  been  defiled." 

"  But  I  have  no  money,  Monsieur  I'abbe,"  she  re- 
plied. "  And  I  am  not  brave  now  like  I  used  to  be. 
Besides,  how  can  I  leave  without  any  proofs  of  what 
you  are  saying?     I  have  not  the  right  to  do  so." 

The  priest  rose  to  his  feet,  quivering  with  Indigna- 
tion, 

"  You  are  listening  to  the  dictates  of  your  coward- 
Ice,  madame.  I  thought  you  were  a  different  woman, 
but  you  are  unworthy  of  God's  mercy." 

She  fell  on  her  knees : 

"  Oh  !  Do  not  abandon  me,  I  implore  you.  Advise 
me  what  to  do." 

"  Open  M.  de  Fourville's  eyes,"  he  said,  shortly. 
"  It  is  his  duty  to  end  this  liaisony 

She  was  seized  with  terror  at  this  advice. 

"  But  he  would  kill  them,  Monsieur  I'abbe !  And 
should  I  be  the  one  to  tell  him  ?  Oh,  not  that !  Never, 
never!  " 

He  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  curse  her,  his  whole  soul 
stirred  with  anger. 

"  Live  on  in  your  shame  and  in  your  wickedness,  for 
you  are  more  guilty  than  they  are.  You  are  the  wife 
who  condones  her  husband's  sin !  My  place  is  no 
longer  here." 

He  turned  to  go,  trembling  all  over  with  wrath. 
She  followed  him  distractedly,  ready  to  give  in,  and 
beginning  to  promise ;  but  he  would  not  listen  to  her  and 


UNE  VIE  189 

strode  rapidly  along,  furiously  shaking  his  big  blue 
umbrella  which  was  nearly  as  high  as  himself.  He  saw 
Julien  standing  near  the  gate  superintending  the  pruning 
of  some  trees,  so  he  turned  off  to  the  left  to  reach  the 
road  by  way  of  the  Couillards'  farm,  and  as  he 
walked  he  kept  saying  to  Jeanne : 

"  Leave  me,  madame.  I  have  nothing  further  to  say 
to  you." 

In  the  middle  of  the  yard,  and  right  In  his  path,  some 
children  were  standing  around  the  kennel  of  the  dog 
INIIrza,  their  attention  concentrated  on  something  which 
the  baron  was  also  carefully  considering  as  he  stood  in 
their  midst  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  looking  like 
a  schoolmaster. 

"  Do  come  and  see  me  again,  Monsieur  I'abbe," 
pleaded  Jeanne.  "  If  you  will  return  In  a  few  days,  I 
shall  be  able  to  tell  you  then  what  I  think  Is  the  best 
course  to  take,  and  we  can  talk  It  over  together." 

By  that  time  they  had  almost  reached  the  group  of 
children  (which  the  baron  had  left,  to  avoid  meeting 
and  speaking  to  his  enemy,  the  priest)  and  the  cure 
AA'ent  to  see  what  It  was  that  was  Interesting  them  so 
deeply.  It  was  the  dog  whelping;  five  little  pups  were 
already  crawling  round  the  mother,  who  gently  licked 
them  as  she  lay  on  her  side  before  the  kennel,  and  just 
as  the  cure  looked  over  the  children's  heads,  a  sixth 
appeared.  When  they  saw  it,  all  the  boys  and  girls 
clapped  their  hands,  crying: 

"  There's  another!     There's  another!  " 

To  them  It  was  simply  a  perfectly  pure  and  natural 
amusement,  and  they  watched  these  pups  being  born  as 
they  might  have  watched  the  apples  falling  from  a  tree. 

The  Abbe  Tolblac  stood  still  for  a  moment  In  hor- 


I90  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

rified  surprise,  then,  giving  way  to  his  passion,  he 
raised  his  umbrella  and  began  to  rain  down  blows  on 
the  children's  heads.  The  startled  urchins  ran  off  as 
fast  as  they  could  go,  and  the  abbe  found  himself  left 
alone  with  the  dog,  which  was  painfully  trying  to  rise. 
Before  she  could  stand  up,  he  knocked  her  back  again, 
and  began  to  hit  her  with  all  his  strength.  The  animal 
moaned  pitifully  as  she  writhed  under  these  blows  from 
which  there  was  no  escape  (for  she  was  chained  up) 
and  at  last  the  priest's  umbrella  broke.  Then,  unable 
to.  beat  the  dog  any  longer,  he  jumped  on  her,  and 
stamped  and  crushed  her  under-foot  in  a  perfect  frenzy 
of  anger.  Another  pup  was  born  beneath  his  feet  be- 
fore he  dispatched  the  mother  with  a  last  furious  kick, 
and  then  the  mangled  body  lay  quivering  in  the  midst  of 
the  whining  pups,  which  were  awkwardly  groping  for 
their  mother's  teats.  Jeanne  had  escaped,  but  the 
baron  returned  and,  almost  as  enraged  as  the  priest, 
suddenly  seized  the  abbe  by  the  throat,  and  giving  him 
a  blow  which  knocked  his  hat  off,  carried  him  to  the 
fence  and  threw^  him  out  into  the  road. 

When  he  turned  round,  M.  le  Perthuls  saw  his 
daughter  kneeling  in  the  midst  of  the  pups,  sobbing  as 
she  picked  them  up  and  put  them  in  her  skirt.  He 
strode  up  to  her  gesticulating  wildly. 

"  There !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  do  you  think  of 
that  surpliced  wretch,  now?  " 

The  noise  had  brought  the  farmpeople  to  the  spot, 
and  they  all  stood  round,  gazing  at  the  remains  of  the 
dog. 

"  Could  one  have  believed  that  a  man  would  be  so 
cruel  as  that !  "  said  Couillard's  wife. 

Jeanne  picked  up  the  pups,  saying  she  would  bring 


UNE  VIE  191 

them  up  by  hand;  she  tried  to  give  them  some  milk, 
but  three  out  of  seven  died  the  next  day.  Then  old 
Simon  went  all  over  the  neighborhood  trying  to  find  a 
foster-mother  for  the  others;  he  could  not  get  a  dog, 
but  he  brought  back  a  cat,  asserting  that  she  would  do 
as  well.  Three  more  pups  were  killed,  and  the  seventh 
was  given  to  the  cat,  who  took  to  it  directly,  and  lay 
down  on  her  side  to  suckle  it.  That  it  might  not 
exhaust  its  foster-mother  the  pup  was  weaned  a  fort- 
night later,  anci  Jeanne  undertook  to  feed  it  herself  with 
a  feeding-bottle ;  she  had  named  it  Toto,  but  the  baron 
rechristened  it,  and  called  it  Massacre. 

The  priest  did  not  go  to  see  Jeanne  again.  The 
next  Sunday  he  hurled  curses  and  threats  against  the 
chateau,  denouncing  it  as  a  plague-spot  which  ought  to 
be  removed,  and  going  on  to  anathematize  the  baron 
(who  laughed  at  him)  and  to  make  veiled,  half-timid 
allusions  to  Julien's  latest  amour.  The  vicomte  was 
very  vexed  at  this,  but  he  did  not  dare  say  anything  for 
fear  of  giving  rise  to  a  scandal;  and  the  priest  continued 
to  call  down  vengeance  on  their  heads,  and  to  foretell 
the  downfall  of  God's  enemies  in  every  sermon.  At 
last,  Julien  wrote  a  decided,  though  respectful,  letter  to 
the  archbishop,  and  the  Abbe  Tolbiac,  finding  himself 
threatened  with  disgrace,  ceased  his  denunciations.  He 
began  to  take  long  solitary  walks;  often  he  was  to  be 
m.et  striding  along  the  roads  with  an  ardent,  excited 
look  on  his  face.  Gilberte  and  Julien  were  always 
seeing  him  when  they  were  out  riding,  sometimes  in 
the  distance,  on  the  other  side  of  a  common,  or  on  the 
edge  of  the  cliff,  sometimes  close  at  hand,  reading  his 
breviary  in  a  narrow  valley  they  were  just  about  to 
pass  through;  they  always  turned  another  way  to  avoid 


192  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

passing  him.  Spring  had  come,  enflaming  their  hearts 
with  fresh  desires,  and  urging  them  to  seek  each  other's 
embraces  in  any  secluded  spot  to  which  their  rides  might 
lead  them ;  but  the  leaves  were  only  budding,  the  grass 
was  still  damp  from  the  rains  of  winter,  and  they  could 
not,  as  in  the  height  of  summer,  hide  themselves 
amidst  the  undergrowth  of  the  woods.  Lately,  they 
had  generally  sheltered  their  caresses  within  a  movable 
shepherd's  hut  which  had  been  left  since  autumn,  on  the 
very  top  of  the  Vaucotte  hill.  It  stood  all  alone  on  the 
edge  of  the  precipitous  descent  to  the  valley,  five  hun- 
dred yards  above  the  cliff.  There  they  felt  quite  secure, 
for  they  overlooked  the  whole  of  the  surrounding 
country,  and  they  fastened  their  horses  to  the  shafts  to 
wait  until  their  masters  were  satiated  with  love. 

One  evening  as  they  were  leaving  the  hut,  they  saw 
the  Abbe  Tolbiac  sitting  on  the  hill-side,  nearly  hidden 
by  the  rushes. 

"  We  must  leave  our  horses  in  that  ravine,  another 
time,"  said  Julien;  "  in  case  they  should  tell  our  where- 
abouts," and  thenceforth  they  always  tied  their  horses 
up  in  a  kind  of  recess  in  the  valley,  which  was  hidden 
by  bushes. 

Another  evening,  they  were  both  returning  to  La 
Vrillette  where  the  comte  was  expecting  Julien  to  dinner, 
when  they  met  the  cure  coming  out  of  the  chateau.  He 
bowed,  without  looking  them  in  the  face,  and  stood  on 
one  side  to  let  them  pass.  For  the  moment  his  visit 
made  them  uneasy,  but  their  anxiety  was  soon  dispelled. 

Jeanne  was  sitting  by  the  fire  reading,  one  windy 
afternoon  at  the  beginning  of  May,  when  she  suddenly 
saw    the    Comte    de    Fourville    running    towards    the 


UNE  VIE  193 

chateau  at  such  a  rate  as  to  make  her  fear  he  was  the 
bearer  of  bad  news.  She  hastened  downstairs  to  meet 
him,  and  when  she  saw  him  close,  she  thought  he  must 
have  gone  mad.  He  had  on  his  shooting-jacket  and  a 
big  fur  cap,  that  he  generally  only  wore  on  his  own 
grounds,  and  he  was  so  pale  that  his  red  moustaches 
(which,  as  a  rule,  hardly  showed  against  his  ruddy  face) 
looked  the  color  of  flame.  His  eyes  were  haggard 
and  stared  vacantly  or  rolled  from  side  to  side. 

"  My  wife  is  here,  isn't  she?  "  he  gasped. 

"  No,"  answered  Jeanne,  too  frightened  to  think 
of  what  she  was  saying;  "  I  have  not  seen  her  at  all  to- 
day." 

The  comte  dropped  into  a  chair,  as  if  his  legs  had  no 
longer  strength  to  support  him,  and,  taking  off  his  cap, 
he  mechanically  passed  his  handkerchief  several  times 
across  his  forehead;  then  he  started  to  his  feet,  and 
went  towards  Jeanne  with  outstretched  hands,  and 
mouth  opened  to  speak  and  tell  her  of  his  terrible  grief. 
But  suddenly  he  stopped  short,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on 
her,  murmured,  as  if  he  were  delirous :  "  But  it  is  your 
husband  —  you  also  — "  and  breaking  off  abruptly,  he 
rushed  out  towards  the  sea. 

Jeanne  ran  after  him,  calling  him  and  imploring  him 
to  stop.  "He  knows  all!"  she  thought,  in  terror. 
"  What  will  he  do?  Oh,  pray  heaven  he  may  not  find 
them." 

He  did  not  listen  to  her,  and  evidently  knowing 
whither  to  direct  his  steps,  ran  straight  on  without  any 
hesitation  as  to  the  path  he  should  take.  Already  he 
had  leapt  across  the  ditch,  and  was  rapidly  striding 
across  the  reeds  towards  the  cliff.  Finding  she  could 
not  catch  him  up,  Jeanne  stood  on  the  slope  beyond  the 
V— 13 


194  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

wood,  and  watched  him  as  long  as  he  was  In  sight ;  then, 
when  she  could  see  him  no  longer,  she  went  indoors 
again,  tortured  with  fear  and  anxiety. 

When  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  the  comte 
turned  to  the  right,  and  again  began  to  run.  The  sea 
was  very  rough,  and  one  after  the  other  the  heavy 
clouds  came  up  and  poured  their  contents  on  the  land, 
A  whistling  moaning  wind  swept  over  the  grass,  laying 
low  the  young  barley,  and  carrying  the  great,  white  sea- 
gulls inland  like  sprays  of  foam.  The  rain,  which 
came  In  gusts,  beat  in  the  comte's  face  and  drenched  his 
cheeks  and  moustaches,  and  the  tumult  of  the  elements 
seemed  to  fill  his  heart  as  well  as  his  ears.  There, 
straight  before  him  In  the  distance,  lay  the  Vaucotte  val- 
ley, and  between  it  and  him  stood  a  solitary  shepherd's 
hut,  with  two  horses  tied  to  the  shafts.  (What  fear 
could  there  be  of  anyone  seeing  them  on  such  a  day  as 
this?) 

As  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  animals,  the  comte 
threw  himself  flat  on  the  ground,  and  dragged  himself 
along  on  his  hands  and  knees,  his  hairy  cap  and  mud- 
stained  clothes  making  him  look  like  some  monstrous 
animal.  He  crawled  to  the  lonely  hut,  and,  in  case  Its 
occupants  should  see  him  through  the  cracks  in  the 
planks  he  hid  himself  beneath  It.  The  horses  had  seen 
him  and  were  paAving  the  ground.  He  slowly  cut  the 
reins  by  which  they  were  fastened  with  a  knife  that  he 
held  open  In  his  hand,  and,  as  a  fresh  gust  of  wind  swept 
by,  the  two  animals  cantered  oft,  their  backs  stung  by 
the  hail  which  lashed  against  the  sloping  roof  of  the 
shepherd's  cot,  and  made  the  frail  abode  tremible  on  its 
w^heels. 

Then  the  comte  rose  to  his  knees,  put  his  eye  to  the 


aNE  VIE  195 

slit  at  the  bottom  of  the  door,  and  remained  perfectly 
motionless  while  he  watched  and  waited.  Some  time 
passed  thus,  and  then  he  suddenly  leapt  to  his  feet, 
covered  with  mire  from  head  to  foot.  Furiously  he 
fastened  the  bolt,  which  secured  the  shelter  on  the 
outside,  and  seizing  the  shafts,  he  shook  the  hut  as 
if  he  would  have  broken  it  to  atoms.  After  a  moment 
he  began  to  drag  it  along  —  exerting  the  strength  of  a 
bull,  and  bending  nearly  double  in  his  tremendous  ef- 
fort —  and  it  was  towards  the  almost  perpendicular 
slope  to  the  valley  that  he  hurried  the  cottage  and  its 
human  occupants  who  were  desperately  shouting  and 
trying  to  burst  open  the  door,  in  their  ignorance  of  what 
had  happened. 

At  the  extreme  edge  of  the  slope,  the  comte  let  go 
of  the  hut,  and  it  at  once  begun  to  run  down  towards 
the  valley.  At  first  it  moved  but  slowly,  but,  its  speed 
increasing  as  it  went,  it  moved  quicker  and  quicker,  until 
soon  it  was  rushing  down  the  hill  at  a  tremendous  rate. 
Its  shafts  bumped  along  the  ground  and  it  leaped  over 
and  dashed  against  the  obstacles  in  its  path,  as  if  it  had 
been  endowed  with  life;  it  bounded  over  the  head  of  an 
old  beggar  who  was  crouching  in  a  ditch,  and,  as  it 
passed,  the  man  heard  frightful  cries  issuing  from 
within  it.  All  at  once  one  of  the  wheels  was  torn  off, 
and  the  hut  turned  over  on  its  side.  That  however, 
did  not  stop  it,  and  now  it  rolled  over  and  over  like  a 
ball,  or  like  some  house  uprooted  from  its  foundations 
and  hurled  from  the  summit  of  a  mountain.  It  rolled 
on  and  on  until  it  reached  the  edge  of  the  last  ravine; 
there  it  took  a  final  leap,  and  after  describing  a  curve, 
fell  to  the  earth,  and  smashed  like  an  egg-shell. 

Directly  it  had  dashed  upon  the  rocks  at  the  bottom 


196  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

of  the  valley,  the  old  beggar,  who  had  seen  it  falling, 
began  to  make  his  way  down  through  the  brambles. 
He  did  not  go  straight  to  the  shattered  hut,  but,  like 
the  cautious  rustic  that  he  was,  went  to  announce  the 
accident  at  the  nearest  farm-house.  The  farm  people 
ran  to  the  spot  the  beggar  pointed  out,  and  beneath  the 
fragments  of  the  hut,  found  two  bruised  and  mangled 
corpses.  The  man's  forehead  was  split  open,  and  his 
face  crushed;  the  woman's  jaw  was  almost  separated 
from  her  head,  and  their  broken  limbs  were  as  soft  as 
if  there  had  not  been  a  bone  beneath  the  flesh.  Still 
the  farmers  could  recognize  them,  and  they  began  to 
make  all  sorts  of  conjectures  as  to  the  cause  of  the 
accident. 

"What  could  they  have  been  doin'  in  the  cabin?" 
said  a  woman. 

The  old  beggar  replied  that  apparently  they  had 
taken  refuge  from  the  weather,  and  that  the  high  wind 
had  overturned  the  hut,  and  blown  it  down  the  preci- 
pice. He  added  that  he  himself  was  going  to  take 
shelter  in  it  when  he  saw  the  horses  fastened  to  the 
shafts  and  concluded  that  the  place  was  already  oc- 
cupied. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  I  should  have  been  where 
they  are  now,"  he  said  with  an  air  of  self-congratula- 
tion. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  all  the  better  if  you 
had  been,"  said  some  one. 

"  Why  would  it  have  been  better?  "  exclaimed  the 
beggar  in  a  great  rage.  "  'Cause  I'm  poor  and  they're 
rich?  Look  at  them  now!  "  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
two  corpses  with  his  hooked  stick,  as  he  stood  trembling 
and  ragged,  with  the  water  dripping  from  him,  and  his 


UNE  VIE  197 

battered  hat,  his  matted  beard,  his  long  unkempt  hair, 
making  him  look  terribly  dirty  and  miserable.  "  We're 
all  equal  when  we're  dead." 

The  group  had  grown  bigger,  and  the  peasants  stood 
round  with  a  frightened,  cowardly  look  on  their  faces. 
After  a  discussion  as  to  what  they  had  better  do,  it  was 
finally  decided  to  carry  the  bodies  back  to  their  homes, 
in  the  hope  of  getting  a  reward.  Two  carts  were  got 
ready,  and  then  a  fresh  difficulty  arose;  some  thought  it 
would  be  quite  enough  to  place  straw  at  the  bottom  of 
the  carts,  and  others  thought  it  would  look  better  to 
Dut  mattresses. 

"  But  the  mattresses  would  be  soaked  with  blood," 
cried  the  woman  who  had  spoken  before.  "  They'd 
have  to  be  washed  with  eaii  de  javelle.^^ 

"  The  chateau  people'll  pay  for  that,"  said  a  jolly- 
faced  farmer.  "  They  can't  expect  to  get  things  for 
nothing." 

That  decided  the  matter,  and  the  two  carts  set  off, 
one  to  the  right,  the  other  to  the  left,  jolting  and  shak- 
ing the  remains  of  these  two  beings  who  had  so  often 
been  clasped  in  each  other's  arms,  but  who  would  never 
meet  again. 

When  the  comte  had  seen  the  hut  set  off  on  its  terri- 
ble journey,  he  had  fled  away  through  the  rain  and  the 
wind,  and  had  run  on  and  on  across  the  country  like  a 
madman.  He  ran  for  several  hours,  heedless  of  which 
way  his  steps  were  taking  him,  and,  at  nightfall,  he 
found  himself  at  his  own  chateau.  The  servants  were 
anxiously  awaiting  his  return,  and  hastened  to  tell  him 
that  the  two  horses  had  just  returned  riderless,  for 
Julien's  had  followed  the  other  one. 

M.   de   Fourville  staggered  back.      "  Some   accident 


198  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

must  have  happened  to  my  wife  and  the  vicomte,"  he 
said  in  broken  tones.  "  Let  everyone  go  and  look  for 
them." 

He  started  off  again,  himself,  as  though  he  were  go- 
ing to  seek  them,  but,  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight, 
he  hid  behind  a  bush,  and  watched  the  road  along 
which  the  woman  he  still  loved  so  dearly  would  be 
brought  dead  or  dying,  or  perhaps  maimed  and  disfig- 
ured for  life.  In  a  little  while  a  cart  passed  by,  bearing 
a  strange  load ;  it  drew  up  before  the  chateau-gates,  then 
passed  through  them.  Yes,  he  knew  It  was  she ;  but  the 
dread  of  hearing  the  horrible  truth  forced  him  to  stay 
in  his  hiding-place,  and  he  crouched  down  like  a  hare, 
trembling  at  the  faintest  rustle. 

He  waited  for  an  hour — perhaps  two — and  yet  the 
cart  did  not  come  back  again.  He  was  persuaded  that 
his  wife  was  dying,  and  the  thought  of  seeing  her,  of 
meeting  her  eyes  was  such  a  torture  to  him,  that,  seized 
with  a  sudden  fear  of  being  discovered  and  compelled 
to  witness  her  death,  he  again  set  off  running,  and  did 
not  stop  till  he  was  hidden  in  the  midst  of  a  wood. 
Then  he  thought  that  perhaps  she  needed  help  and  that 
there  was  no  one  to  take  care  of  her  as  he  could,  and  he 
sped  back  in  mad  haste. 

As  he  was  going  Into  the  house,  he  met  his  gardener. 

"  Well?  "  he  cried,  excitedly. 

The  man  dared  not  answer  the  truth. 

"  Is  she  dead?  "  almost  yelled  M.  de  Fourvillc. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  le  comte,"  stammered  the  servant. 

The  comte  experienced  an  Intense  relief  at  the  an- 
swer; all  his  agitation  left  him,  and  he  went  quietly  and 
firmly  up  the  steps. 

In  the  meantime,  the  other  cart  had  arrived  at  Les 


UXE  VIE  199 

Peuples.  Jeanne  saw  it  in  the  distance,  and  guessing 
that  a  corpse  lay  upon  the  mattress,  understood  at  once 
what  had  happened ;  the  shock  was  so  great  that  she  fell 
to  the  ground  unconscious.  When  she  came  to  herself 
again  she  found  her  father  supporting  her  head,  and 
bathing  her  forehead  with  vinegar. 

"  Do  you  know  — ?  "  he  asked  hesitatingly. 

"  Yes,  father,"  she  whispered,  trying  to  rise;  but  she 
was  in  such  pain  that  she  was  forced  to  sink  back  again. 

That  evening  she  gave  birth  to  a  dead  child  —  a  girl. 

She  did  not  see  or  hear  anything  of  Julien's  funeral, 
for  she  was  delirious  when  he  was  buried.  In  a  few 
days  she  was  conscious  of  Aunt  Lison's  presence  in  her 
room,  and,  in  the  midst  of  the  feverish  nightmares  by 
which  she  was  haunted,  she  strove  to  recall  when,  and 
under  what  circumstances,  the  old  maid  had  last  left 
Les  Peuples.  But  even  in  her  lucid  moments  she  could 
not  remember,  and  she  could  only  feel  sure  she  had  seen 
her  since  the  baroness's  death. 

XI 

Jeanne  was  confined  to  her  room  for  three  months 
and  everyone  despaired  of  her  life,  but  very,  very 
gradually  health  and  strength  returned  to  her.  Her 
father  and  Aunt  Lison  had  come  to  live  at  the 
chateau,  and  they  nursed  her  day  and  night.  The 
shock  she  had  sustained  had  entirely  upset  her  nervous 
system ;  she  started  at  the  least  noise,  and  the  slight- 
est emotion  caused  her  to  go  off  into  long  swoons.  She 
had  never  asked  the  details  of  Julien's  death.  Why 
should  she?  Did  she  not  already  know  enough? 
Everyone  except  herself  thought  it  had  been  an  accident, 


200  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

and  she  never  revealed  to  anyone  the  terrible  secret  of 
her  husband's  adultery,  and  of  the  comte's  sudden,  fear- 
ful visit  the  day  of  the  catastrophe. 

Her  soul  was  filled  with  the  sweet,  tender  memories 
of  the  few,  short  hours  of  bliss  she  owed  to  her  hus- 
band, and  she  always  pictured  him  to  herself  as  he  had 
been  when  they  were  betrothed,  and  when  she  had 
adored  him  in  the  only  moments  of  sensual  passion  of 
her  life.  She  forgot  all  his  faults  and  harshness;  even 
his  infidelity  seemed  more  pardonable  now  that  death 
stood  between  him  and  her.  She  felt  a  sort  of  vague 
gratitude  to  this  man  who  had  clasped  her  in  his  arms, 
and  she  forgave  him  the  sorrows  he  had  caused  her, 
and  dwelt  only  on  the  happy  moments  they  had  passed 
together. 

As  time  wore  on  and  month  followed  month,  cover- 
ing her  grief  and  memories  with  the  dust  of  forgetful- 
ness,  Jeanne  devoted  herself  entirely  to  her  son.  The 
child  became  the  idol,  the  one  engrossing  thought,  of 
the  three  beings  over  whom  he  ruled  like  any  despot; 
there  was  even  a  sort  of  jealousy  between  his  three 
slaves,  for  Jeanne  grudged  the  hearty  kisses  he  gave  the 
baron  when  the  latter  rode  him  on  his  knees,  and  Aunt 
Lison,  who  was  neglected  by  this  baby,  as  she  had  al- 
ways been  by  everyone,  and  was  regarded  as  a  servant 
by  this  master  who  could  not  talk  yet,  would  go  to  her 
room  and  cry  as  she  compared  the  few  kisses,  which  she 
had  so  much  difliculty  in  obtaining,  with  the  embraces 
the  child  so  freely  lavished  on  his  mother  and  grand- 
father. 

Two  peaceful,  uneventful  years  were  passed  thus  in 
devoted  attention  to  the  child;  then,  at  the  beginning 
of  the  third  winter,  it  was  arranged  that  they  should 


UNE  VIE  20 1 

all  go  to  Rouen  until  the  spring.  But  they  had  hardly 
arrived  at  the  damp,  old  house  before  Paul  had  such  a 
severe  attack  of  bronchitis,  that  pleurisy  was  feared. 
His  distracted  mother  was  convinced  that  no  other  air 
but  that  of  Les  Peuples  agreed  with  him,  and  they  all 
went  back  there  as  soon  as  he  was  well. 

Then  came  a  series  of  quiet,  monotonous  years. 
Jeanne,  her  father,  and  Aunt  Lison  spent  all  their  time 
with  the  child,  and  were  continually  going  into  raptures 
over  the  way  he  lisped,  or  with  his  funny  sayings  and 
doings.  Jeanne  lovingly  called  him  "  Paulet,"  and, 
when  he  tried  to  repeat  the  word,  he  made  them  all 
laugh  by  pronouncing  it  "  Poulet,"  for  he  could  not 
speak  plainly.  The  nickname  "  Poulet  "  clung  to  him, 
and  henceforth  he  was  never  called  anything  else.  He 
grew  very  quickly,  and  one  of  the  chief  amusements  of 
his  "  three  mothers,"  as  the  baron  called  them,  was  to 
measure  his  height.  On  the  wainscoting,  by  the  draw- 
ing-room door,  was  a  series  of  marks  made  with  a  pen- 
knife, showing  how  much  the  boy  had  grown  every 
month,  and  these  marks,  which  were  called  "  Poulet's 
ladder,"  were  of  great  importance  in  everyone's  eyes. 

Then  there  came  a  very  unexpected  addition  to  the 
important  personages  of  the  household  —  the  dog  Mas- 
sacre, which  Jeanne  had  neglected  since  all  her  atten- 
tion had  been  centered  in  her  son.  Ludivine  fed  him, 
and  he  lived  quite  alone,  and  always  on  the  chain,  in  an 
old  barrel  in  front  of  the  stables.  Paul  noticed  him 
one  morning,  and  at  once  wanted  to  go  and  kiss  him. 
The  dog  made  a  great  fuss  over  the  child,  who  cried 
when  he  was  taken  away,  so  Massacre  was  unchained, 
and  henceforth  lived  in  the  house.  He  became  Paul's 
inseparable    friend    and    companion;    they    played    to- 


202  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

gether,  and  lay  down  side  by  side  on  the  carpet  to  go  to 
sleep,  and  soon  Massacre  shared  the  bed  of  his  playfel- 
low, who  would  not  let  the  dog  leave  him.  Jeanne 
lamented  sometimes  over  the  fleas,  and  Aunt  Lison  felt 
angry  with  the  dog  for  absorbing  so  much  of  the  child's 
affection,  affection  for  which  she  longed,  and  which,  it 
seemed  to  her,  this  animal  had  stolen. 

At  long  intervals  visits  were  exchanged  with  the 
Brisevilles  and  the  Coutellers,  but  the  mayor  and  the 
doctor  were  the  only  regular  visitors  at  the  chateau. 

The  brutal  way  in  which  the  priest  had  killed  the 
dog,  and  the  suspicions  he  had  Instilled  into  her  mind 
about  the  time  of  Julien's  and  Gilberte's  horrible  death, 
had  roused  Jeanne's  Indignation  against  the  God  who 
could  have  such  ministers,  and  she  had  entirely  ceased 
to  attend  church.  From  time  to  time  the  abbe  in- 
veighed in  outspoken  terms  against  the  chateau,  which, 
he  said,  was  inhabited  by  the  Spirit  of  Evil,  the  Spirit 
of  Everlasting  Rebellion,  the  Spirit  of  Errors  and  of 
Lies,  the  Spirit  of  Iniquity,  the  Spirit  of  Corruption 
and  Impurity;  it  was  by  all  these  names  that  he  alluded 
to  the  baron. 

The  church  was  deserted,  and  when  the  cure  hap- 
pened to  walk  past  any  fields  In  which  the  ploughmen 
were  at  work,  the  men  never  ceased  their  task  to  speak 
to  him,  or  turned  to  touch  their  hats.  He  acquired  the 
reputation  of  being  a  wizard  because  he  cast  out  the 
devil  from  a  woman  who  was  possessed,  and  the  peas- 
ants believed  he  knew  words  to  dispel  charms.  He  laid 
his  hands  on  cows  that  gave  thin  milk,  discovered  the 
whereabouts  of  things  which  had  been  lost  by  means  of 
a  mysterious  Incantation,  and  devoted  his  narrow  mind 
to  the  study  of  all  the  ecclesiastical  books  In  which  he 


UXE  VIE  203 

could  find  accounts  of  the  devil's  apparitions  upon  earth, 
or  descriptions  of  his  resources  and  stratagems,  and  the 
various  ways  in  which  he  manifested  his  power  and  exer- 
cised his  influence. 

Believing  himself  specially  called  to  combat  this  in- 
visible, harmful  Power,  the  priest  had  learnt  all  the 
forms  given  in  religious  manuals  to  exorcise  the  devil. 
He  fancied  Satan  lurked  in  every  shadow,  and  the 
phrase  Sieiit  Ico  riigiens  circuit,  quarens  quern  devoret 
was  continually  on  his  lips.  People  began  to  be  afraid 
of  his  strange  power;  even  his  fellow-clergy  (ignorant 
country  priests  to  whom  Beelzebub  was  an  article  of 
their  faith,  and  who,  perplexed  by  the  minute  directions 
for  the  rites  to  be  observed  in  case  of  any  manifestations 
of  the  Evil  One's  power,  at  last  confounded  religion 
with  magic)  regarded  the  Abbe  Tolbiac  as  somewhat  of 
a  wizard,  and  respected  him  as  much  for  the  supernatu- 
ral power  he  was  supposed  to  possess  as  for  the  irre- 
proachable austerity  of  his  life. 

The  cure  never  bowed  to  Jeanne  if  he  chanced  to 
meet  her,  and  such  a  state  of  things  worried  and  grieved 
Aunt  Lison,  who  could  not  understand  how  anyone 
could  systematically  stay  away  from  church.  Everyone 
took  it  for  granted  that  she  was  religious  and  confessed 
and  communicated  at  proper  intervals,  and  no  one  ever 
tried  to  find  out  what  her  views  on  religion  really  were. 
Whenever  she  was  quite  alone  with  Paul,  Lison  talked 
to  him,  in  whispers,  about  the  good  God.  The  child 
listened  to  her  with  a  faint  degree  of  Interest  when  she 
related  the  miracles  which  had  been  performed  in  the 
old  times,  and,  when  she  told  him  he  must  love  the  good 
God,  very,  very  dearly,  he  sometimes  asked : 

"  Where  is  he,  auntie?  " 


204  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

She  would  point  upwards  and  answer :  "  Up  there, 
above  the  sky,  Poulet;  but  you  must  not  say  anything 
about  it,"  for  she  feared  the  baron  would  be  angry  if 
he  knew  what  she  was  teaching  the  boy.  One  day, 
however,  Poulet  startled  her  by  asserting:  "  The  good 
God  is  everywhere  except  in  church,"  and  she  found  he 
had  been  talking  to  his  grandfather  about  what  she  had 
told  him, 

Paul  was  now  ten  years  old ;  his  mother  looked  forty. 
He  was  strong,  noisy,  and  boldly  climbed  the  trees,  but 
his  education  had,  so  far,  been  very  neglected.  He  dis- 
liked lessons,  would  never  settle  down  to  them,  and,  if 
ever  the  baron  managed  to  keep  him  reading  a  little 
longer  than  usual,  Jeanne  would  interfere,  saying : 

"  Let  him  go  and  play,  now.  He  is  so  young  to  be 
tired  with  books." 

In  her  eyes  he  was  still  an  infant,  and  she  hardly 
noticed  that  he  walked,  ran,  and  talked  like  a  man  in 
miniature.  She  lived  in  constant  anxiety  lest  he  should 
fall  down,  or  get  too  cold  or  too  hot,  or  overload  his 
stomach,  or  not  eat  as  much  as  his  growth  demanded. 

When  the  boy  was  twelve  years  old  a  great  difficulty 
arose  about  his  first  communion.  Lise  went  to  Jeanne's 
room  one  morning,  and  pointed  out  to  her  that  the  child 
could  not  be  permitted  to  go  any  longer  without  reli- 
gious instruction,  and  without  performing  the  simplest 
sacred  duties.  She  called  every  argument  to  her  aid, 
and  gave  a  thousand  reasons  for  the  necessity  of  what 
she  was  urging,  dwelling  chiefly  upon  the  danger  of 
scandal.  The  Idea  worried  Jeanne,  and,  unable  to  give 
a  decided  answer,  she  replied  that  Paul  could  very  well 
go  on  as  he  was  for  a  little  longer.     A  month  after  this 


UNE  VIE  205 

discussion  with  Lise,  Jeanne  called  on  the  Mcomtesse  de 
Briseville. 

"  I  suppose  it  will  be  Paul's  first  communion  this 
year,"  said  the  vicomtesse,  in  the  course  of  conversation. 

"  Yes,  maciame,"  answered  Jeanne,  taken  unawares. 

These  few  words  had  the  effect  of  deciding  her,  and, 
without  saying  anything  about  it  to  her  father,  she 
asked  Lise  to  take  the  child  to  the  catechism  class. 
Everything  went  on  smoothly  for  a  month ;  then  Poulet 
came  back,  one  evening,  with  a  sore  throat,  and  the 
next  day  he  began  to  cough.  His  frightened  mother 
questioned  him  as  to  the  cause  of  his  cold  and  he  told 
her  that  he  had  not  behaved  very  well  in  class,  so  the 
cure  had  sent  him  to  wait  at  the  door  of  the  church, 
where  there  was  a  draught  from  the  porch,  until  the 
end  of  the  lesson.  After  that  Jeanne  kept  him  at  home, 
and  taught  him  his  catechism  herself;  but  the  Abbe  Tol- 
biac  refused  to  admit  him  to  communion,  in  spite  of  all 
Lison's  entreaties,  alleging,  as  his  reason,  that  the  boy 
had  not  been  properly  prepared. 

The  following  year  he  refused  him  again,  and  the 
baron  was  so  exasperated  that  he  said  plainly  there  was 
no  need  for  Paul  to  believe  in  such  foolery  as  this  absurd 
symbol  of  transubstantiation,  to  become  a  good  and  hon- 
est man.  So  it  was  resolved  to  bring  the  boy  up  in 
the  Christian  faith,  but  not  in  the  Catholic  Church,  and 
that  he  should  decide  his  religion  for  himself  when  he 
reached  his  majority. 

A  short  time  afterwards,  Jeanne  called  on  the  Brise- 
villes  and  received  no  visit  in  return.  Knowing  how 
punctilious  they  were  in  all  matters  of  etiquette,  she  felt 
very  much  surprised  at  the  omission,  until  the  Marquise 


2o6  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

de  Coutelier  haughtily  told  her  the  reason  of  this  neg- 
lect. Aware  that  her  husband's  rank  and  wealth  made 
her  the  queen  of  the  Normandy  aristocracy,  the  mar- 
quise ruled  in  queen-like  fashion,  showing  herself  gra- 
cious or  severe  as  occasions  demanded.  She  never  hesi- 
tated to  speak  as  she  thought,  and  reproved,  or  con- 
gratulated, or  corrected  whenever  she  thought  fit. 
When  Jeanne  called  on  her  she  addressed  a  few  icy 
words  to  her  visitor,  then  said  in  a  colci  tone:  "  Soci- 
ety divides  itself  naturally  into  two  classes :  those  who 
believe  in  God,  and  those  who  do  not.  The  former, 
however  lowly  they  may  be,  are  our  friends  and  equals; 
with  the  latter  we  can  have  nothing  to  do," 

Jeanne  felt  that  she  was  being  attacked,  and  replied : 

"  But  cannot  one  believe  in  God  without  constantly 
attending  church?  " 

"  No,  madame.  Believers  go  to  pray  to  God  in  his 
church,  as  they  would  go  to  visit  their  friends  at  their 
houses." 

"  God  is  everywhere,  madame,  and  not  only  in  the 
churches,"  answered  Jeanne,  feeling  very  hurt.  "  I 
believe  in  his  goodness  and  mercy  from  the  bottom  of 
my  heart,  but  when  there  are  certain  priests  between  him 
and  me,  I  can  no  longer  realize  his  presence." 

"  The  priest  is  the  standard-bearer  of  the  church, 
madame,"  said  the  marquise,  rising,  "  and,  whoever 
does  not  follow  that  flag  is  as  much  our  enemy  as  the 
church's." 

Jeanne  had  risen  also.  "  You  believe  In  the  God 
of  a  sect,  madame,"  she  replied,  quivering  with  indigna- 
tion. "  /  believe  in  the  God  whom  every  upright  man 
reveres,"  and,  with  a  bow,  she  left  the  marquise. 

Among  themselv^es  the  peasants  also  blamed  Jeanne 


UXE  VIE  207 

for  not  sending  Poulet  to  his  first  communion.  They 
themselves  did  not  go  to  mass,  and  never  took  the  sac- 
rament, or  at  least,  only  at  Easter  when  the  Church 
formally  commanded  it;  but  when  it  came  to  the  chil- 
dren, that  was  a  different  matter,  and  not  one  of  them 
would  have  dared  to  bring  a  child  up  outside  the  com- 
mon faith,  for,  after  all,  "  Religion  is  Religion." 

Jeanne  was  quite  conscious  of  the  disapproval  with 
which  ever}'one  regarded  her  conduct,  but  such  incon- 
sistency only  roused  her  indignation,  and  she  scorned 
the  people  who  could  thus  quiet  their  consciences  so  eas- 
ily, and  hide  the  cowardly  fears  which  lurked  at  the 
bottom  of  their  hearts  under  the  mask  of  righteousness. 

The  baron  undertook  to  direct  Paul's  studies,  and  be- 
gan to  instruct  him  in  Latin.  The  boy's  mother  had 
but  one  word  to  say  on  the  subject,  "  Whatever  you  do, 
don't  tire  him,"  and,  while  lessons  were  going  on,  she 
would  anxiously  hang  round  the  door  of  the  school- 
room, which  her  father  had  forbidden  her  to  enter,  be- 
cause, at  every  moment,  she  interrupted  his  teaching  to 
ask:  "You're  sure  your  feet  are  not  cold,  Poulet?" 
or  "  Your  head  does  not  ache,  does  it,  Poulet?  "  or  to 
admonish  the  master  with :  "  Don't  make  him  talk  so 
much,  he  will  have  a  sore  throat." 

As  soon  as  lessons  were  over  the  boy  went  into  the 
garden  with  his  mother  and  aunt.  They  were  all  three 
very  fond  of  gardening,  and  took  great  pleasure  and 
interest  in  planting  and  pruning,  in  watching  the  seeds 
they  had  sown  come  up  and  blossom,  and  in  cutting 
flowers  for  nosegays.  Paul  devoted  himself  chiefly  to 
raising  salad  plants.  He  had  the  entire  care  of  four 
big  beds  in  the  kitchen  garden,  and  there  he  cultivated 
lettuce,    endive,    cos-lettuce,    mustardcress,    and    every 


2o8  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

other  known  kind  of  salad,*  He  dug,  watered,  weeded, 
and  planted,  and  made  his  two  mothers  work  like  day 
laborers,  and  for  hours  together  they  knelt  on  the  bor- 
ders, soiling  their  hands  and  dresses  as  they  planted  the 
seedlings  in  the  holes  they  made  with  their  forefingers 
in  the  mold. 

Poulet  was  almost  fifteen;  he  had  grown  wonderfully, 
and  the  highest  mark  on  the  drawing-room  wall  was 
over  five  feet  from  the  ground,  but  in  mind  he  was  still 
an  ignorant,  foolish  child,  for  he  had  no  opportunity 
of  expanding  his  intellect,  confined  as  he  was  to  the  soci- 
ety of  these  two  women  and  the  good-tempered  old  man 
who  was  so  far  behind  the  times.  At  last  one  evening 
the  baron  said  it  was  time  for  the  boy  to  go  to  college. 
Aunt  Lison  withdrew  into  ^  dark  corner  in  horror  at 
the  idea,  and  Jeanne  began  to  sob. 

"  Why  does  he  want  to  know  so  much?  "  she  replied. 
*'  We  will  bring  him  up  to  be  a  gentleman  farmer,  to 
devote  himself  to  the  cultivation  of  his  property,  as  so 
many  noblemen  do,  and  he  will  pass  his  life  happily  in 
this  house,  where  we  have  lived  before  him  and  where 
we  shall  die.     What  more  can  he  want?  " 

The  baron  shook  his  head. 

"  What  answer  will  you  make  if  he  comes  to  you  a 
few  years  hence,  and  says :  '  I  am  nothing,  and  I  know 
nothing  through  your  selfish  love.  I  feel  incapable  of 
working  or  of  becoming  anyone  now,  and  yet  I  know  I 
was  not  intended  to  lead  the  dull,  pleasureless  life  to 
which  your  short-sighted  affection  has  condemned  me.'  " 

Jeanne  turned  to  her  son  with  the  tears  rolling  down 
her  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  Poulet,  you  will  never  reproach  me  for  having   , 
loved  you  too  much,  will  you?  " 


UNE  VIE  209 

*'  No,  mamma,"  promlse'd  the  boy  in  surprise. 

*'  You  swear  you  will  not?  " 

"  Yes,  mamma/' 

"  You  want  to  stay  here,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"  Jeanne,  you  have  no  right  to  dispose  of  his  life  in 
that  way,"  said  the  baron,  sternly.  "  Such  conduct  is 
cowardly  —  almost  criminal.  You  are  sacrificing  your 
child  to  3^our  own  personal  happiness." 

Jeanne  hid  her  face  In  her  han^s,  while  her  sobs  came 
in  quick  succession. 

"  I  have  been  so  unhappy  —  so  unhappy,"  she  mur- 
mured, through  her  tears.  "  And  now  my  son  has 
brought  peace  and  rest  into  my  life,  you  want  to  take 
him  from  me.  What  will  become  of  me  —  if  I  am 
left  —  all  alone  now  ?  " 

Her  father  went  and  sat  down  by  her  side.  "  And 
am  I  no  one,  Jeanne?  "  he  asked,  taking  her  in  his  arms. 
She  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him 
fondly.  Then  in  a  voice  still  choked  with  tears  and 
sobs : 

"  Yes,  perhaps  you  are  right  papa,  dear,"  she  an- 
swered; "  and  I  was  foolish;  but  I  have  had  so  much 
sorrow.  I  am  quite  willing  for  him  to  go  to  college 
now." 

Then  Poulet,  who  hardly  understood  what  was  going 

to  be  done  with  him,  began  to  cry  too,  and  his  three 

mothers  kissed  and  coaxed  him  and  told  him  to  be  brave. 

They  all  went  up  to  bed  with  heavy  hearts,  and  even 

the  baron  wept  when  he  was  alone  in  his  own  room, 

though  he  had  controlled  his  emotion  downstairs.      It 

was  resolved  to  send  Paul  to  the  college  at  Havre  at 

the  beginning  of  the  next  term,  and  during  the  summer 
V— 14 


2IO  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

he  was  more  spoilt  than  ever.  His  mother  moaned  as 
she  thought  of  the  approaching  separation  and  she  got 
ready  as  many  clothes  for  the  boy  as  if  he  had  been 
about  to  start  on  a  ten  years'  journey. 

One  October  morning,  after  a  sleepless  night,  the 
baron,  Jeanne,  and  Aunt  Lison  went  away  with  Poulet 
in  the  landau.  They  had  already  paid  a  visit  to  fix 
upon  the  bed  he  was  to  have  in  the  dormitory  and  the 
seat  he  was  to  occupy  in  class,  and  this  time  Jeanne  and 
Aunt  Lison  passed  the  whole  day  in  unpacking  his 
things  and  arranging  them  in  the  little  chest  of  draw- 
ers. As  the  latter  would  not  contain  the  quarter  of 
what  she  had  brought,  Jeanne  went  to  the  head  master 
to  ask  if  the  boy  could  not  have  another.  The  steward 
was  sent  for,  and  he  said  that  so  much  linen  and  so 
many  clothes  were  simply  in  the  way,  instead  of  being 
of  any  use,  and  that  the  rules  of  the  house  forbade  him 
to  allow  another  chest  of  drawers,  so  Jeanne  made  up 
her  mind  to  hire  a  room  in  a  little  hotel  close  by,  and  to 
ask  the  landlord  himself  to  take  Poulet  all  he  wanted, 
directly  the  child  found  himself  in  need  of  anything. 

They  all  went  on  the  pier  for  the  rest  of  the  after- 
noon and  watched  the  ships  entering  and  leaving  the 
harbor ;  then,  at  nightfall,  they  went  to  a  restaurant  for 
dinner.  But  they  were  too  unhappy  to  eat,  and  the 
dishes  were  placed  before  them  and  removed  almost 
untouched  as  they  sat  looking  at  each  other  with  tearful 
eyes.  After  dinner  they  walked  slowly  back  to  the  col- 
lege. Boys  of  all  ages  were  arriving  on  every  side, 
some  accompanied  by  their  parents,  others  by  servants. 
A  great  many  were  crying,  and  the  big,  dim  courtyard 
was  filled  with  the  sound  of  tears. 

When  the  time  came  to  say  good-bye,  Jeanne  and 


UXE  VIE  211 

Poulet  clung  to  each  other  as  if  they  could  not  part, 
while  Aunt  Lison  stood,  quite  forgotten,  in  the  back- 
ground, with  her  face  buried  in  her  handkerchief.  The 
baron  felt  he  too  was  giving  way,  so  he  hastened  the 
farewells,  and  took  his  daughter  from  the  college.  The 
landau  was  waiting  at  the  door,  and  they  drove  back  to 
Les  Peuples  in  a  silence  that  was  only  broken  by  an  occa- 
sional sob. 

Jeanne  wept  the  whole  of  the  following  day,  and  the 
next  she  ordered  the  phaeton  and  drove  over  to  Havre. 
Poulet  seemed  to  have  got  over  the  separation  already; 
it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  had  any  companions  of 
his  own  age,  and,  as  he  sat  beside  his  mother,  he  fidgeted 
on  his  chair  and  longed  to  run  out  and  play.  Every 
other  day  Jeanne  went  to  see  him,  and  on  Sundays  took 
him  out.  She  felt  as  though  she  had  not  energy  enough 
to  leave  the  college  between  the  recreation  hours,  so  she 
waited  in  the  parloir  while  the  classes  were  going  on 
until  Poulet  could  come  to  her  again.  At  last  the  head 
master  asked  her  to  go  up  and  see  him,  and  begged  her 
not  to  come  so  often.  She  did  not  take  any  notice  of 
his  request,  and  he  warned  her  that  if  she  still  persisted 
in  preventing  her  son  from  enjoying  his  play  hours,  and 
in  interrupting  his  work,  he  would  be  obliged  to  dismiss 
him  from  the  college.  He  also  sent  a  note  to  the  baron, 
to  the  same  effect,  and  thenceforth  Jeanne  was  always 
kept  In  sight  at  Les  Peuples,  like  a  prisoner.  She  lived 
in  a  constant  state  of  nervous  anxiety,  and  looked  for- 
ward to  the  holidays  with  more  impatience  than  her 
son.  She  began  to  take  long  walks  about  the  country, 
with  Massacre  as  her  only  companion,  and  would  stay 
out  of  doors  all  day  long,  dreamily  musing.  Some- 
time^  she  sat  on  the  cliff  the  whole  afternoon  watching 


212  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

the  sea ;  sometimes  she  walked,  across  the  wood,  to 
Yport,  thinking,  as  she  went,  of  how  she  had  walked 
there  when  she  was  young,  and  of  the  long,  long  years 
w^hich  had  elapsed  since  she  had  bounded  along  these 
very  paths,  a  hopeful,  happy  girl. 

Every  time  she  saw  her  son,  it  seemed  to  Jeanne  as 
if  ten  years  had  passed  since  she  had  seen  him  last;  for 
every  month  he  became  more  of  a  man,  and  every  month 
she  became  more  aged.  Her  father  looked  like  her 
brother,  and  Aunt  Lison  (who  had  been  quite  faded 
when  she  was  twenty-five,  and  had  never  seemed  to  get 
older  since)  might  have  been  taken  for  her  elder  sister. 

Poulet  did  not  study  very  hard;  he  spent  two  years 
in  the  fourth  form,  managed  to  get  through  the  third 
in  one  twelvemonth,  then  spent  two  more  in  the  second, 
and  was  nearly  twenty  when  he  reached  the  rhetoric 
class.  He  had  grown  into  a  tall,  fair  youth,  with  whis- 
kered cheeks  and  a  budding  moustache.  He  came  over 
to  Les  Peuples  every  Sunday  now,  instead  of  his  mother 
going  to  see  him ;  and  as  he  had  been  taking  riding  les- 
sons for  some  time  past,  he  hired  a  horse  and  accom- 
plished the  journey  from  Havre  in  two  hours. 

Every  Sunday  Jeanne  started  out  early  in  the  m.orn- 
°ng  to  go  and  meet  him  on  the  road,  and  with  her  went 
A.unt  Lison  and  the  baron,  who  was  beginning  to  stoop, 
.nd  who  walked  like  a  little  old  man,  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back  as  if  to  prevent  himself  from 
pitching  forward  on  his  face.  The  three  walked  slowly 
along,  sometimes  sitting  down  by  the  wayside  to  rest, 
and  all  the  while  straining  their  eyes  to  catch  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  rider.  As  soon  as  he  appeared,  looking 
like  a  black  speck  on  the  white  road,  they  waved  their 
handkerchiefs,  and  he  at  once  put  his  horse  at  a  gallop, 


UNE  VIE  213 

and  came  up  like  a  whirlwind,  frightening  his  mother 
and  Aunt  Lison,  and  making  his  grandfather  exclaim, 
"  Bravo !  "  in  the  admiration  of  impotent  old  age. 

Although  Paul  was  a  head  taller  than  his  mother,  she 
always  treated  him  as  if  he  were  a  child  and  still  asked 
him,  as  in  former  years,  "  Your  feet  are  not  cold,  are 
they,  Poulet?  "  If  he  went  out  of  doors,  after  lunch, 
to  smoke  a  cigarette,  she  opened  the  window  to  cry: 
"  Oh,  don't  go  out  without  a  hat,  you  will  catch  cold 
in  your  head";  and  when,  at  night,  he  mounted  his 
horse  to  return,  she  could  hardly  contain  herself  for 
nervousness,  and  entreated  her  son  not  to  be  reck- 
less. 

•  "  Do  not  ride  too  quickly,  Poulet,  dear,"  she  would 
say.  "  Think  of  your  poor  mother,  who  would  go  mad 
if  anything  happened  to  you,  and  be  careful." 

One  Saturday  morning  she  received  a  letter  from 
Paul  to  say  he  should  not  come  to  Les  Peuples  as  usual, 
the  following  day,  as  he  had  been  invited  to  a  party 
some  of  his  college  friends  had  got  up.  The  whole  of 
Sunday  Jeanne  was  tortured  by  a  presentiment  of  evil, 
and  when  Thursday  came,  she  was  unable  to  bear  her 
suspense  any  longer,  and  went  over  to  Havre. 

Paul  seemed  changed,  though  she  could  hardly  tell 
in  what  way.  He  seemed  more  spirited,  and  his  words 
and  tones  were  more  manly. 

"  By  the  way,  mamma,  we  are  going  on  another  ex- 
cursion and  I  sha'n't  come  to  Les  Peuples  next  Sunday, 
as  you  have  come  to  see  me  to-day,"  he  said,  all  at  once, 
as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

Jeanne  felt  as  much  surprised  and  stunned  as  if  he 
had  told  her  he  was  going  to  America;  then,  when  she 
was  again  able  to  speak: 


214  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

"  Oh,  PoLilet,"  she  exclaimed,  "  what  is  the  matter 
with  you?     Tell  me  what  is  going  on." 

He  laughed  and  gave  her  a  kiss. 

"  Why,  nothing  at  all,  mamma.  I  am  only  going  to 
enjoy  myself  with  some  friends,  as  everyone  does  at 
my  age." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  when  she  was  alone  in  the  car- 
riage, her  head  was  filled  with  new  and  strange  ideas. 
She.  had  not  recognized  her  Poulet,  her  little  Poulet,  as 
of  old;  she  perceived  for  the  first  time  that  he  was 
grown  up,  that  he  was  no  longer  hers,  that  henceforth 
he  was  going  to  live  his  own  life,  independently  of  the 
old  people.  To  her  he  seemed  to  have  changed  entirel}" 
in  a  day.  What !  Was  this  strong,  bearded,  firm- 
wulled  lad  her  son,  her  little  child  who  used  to  make  her 
help  him  plant  his  lettuces? 

Paul  only  came  to  Les  Peuples  at  very  long  intervals 
for  the  next  three  months,  and  even  when  he  was  rhere, 
It  was  only  too  plain  that  he  longed  to  get  away  again 
as  soon  as  possible,  and  that,  each  evening,  he  tried  to 
leave  an  hour  earlier.  Jeanne  imagined  all  sorts  of 
things,  while  the  baron  tried  to  console  her  by  saying: 
"  There,  let  him  alone,  the  boy  is  twenty  years  old,  you 
know." 

One  morning,  a  shabbily  dressed  old  man  who  spoke 
with  a  German  accent  asked  for  "  Matame  la  vicom- 
tesse."  He  was  shown  in,  and,  after  a  great  many  cere- 
monious bows,  pulled  out  a  dirty  pocketbook,  saying : 

"  I  have  a  leetle  paper  for  you,"  and  then  unfolded, 
and  held  out  a  greasy  scrap  of  paper. 

Jeanne  read  it  over  twice,  looked  at  the  Jew,  read  it 
over  again,  then  asked : 

"  What  does  it  mean?  " 


UNE  VIE  215 

"  I  vlll  tell  you,"  replied  the  man  obsequiously. 
"  Your  son  wanted  a  leetle  money,  and,  as  I  know  what 
a  goot  mother  you  are,  I  lent  him  joost  a  leetle  to  go 
on  vith." 

Jeanne  was  trembling.  "  But  why  did  he  not  come 
to  me  for  it?  " 

The  Jew  entered  Into  a  long  explanation  about  a  gam- 
bling debt  which  had  had  to  be  paid  on  a  certain 
morning  before  midday,  that  no  one  would  lend  Paul 
anything  as  he  was  not  yet  of  age,  and  that  his  "  honor 
would  have  been  compromised,"  if  he,  the  Jew,  had 
not  "  rendered  this  little  service  "  to  the  young  man. 
Jeanne  wanted  to  send  for  the  baron,  but  her  emotion 
seemed  to  have  taken  all  the  strength  from  her  limbs, 
and  she  could  not  rise  from  her  seat. 

"  Would  you  be  kind  enough  to  ring?  "  she  said  to 
the  money-lender,  at  last. 

He  feared  some  trick,  and  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"  If  I  inconvenience  you,  I  vill  call  again,"  he  stam- 
mered. 

She  answered  him  by  a  shake  of  the  head,  and  when 
he  had  rung  they  waited  in  silence  for  the  baron.  The 
latter  at  once  understood  it  all.  The  bill  was  for  fif- 
teen hundred  francs.  He  paid  the  Jew  a  thousand, 
saying  to  him : 

"  Don't  let  me  see  you  here  again,"  and  the  man 
thanked  him,  bowed,  and  went  away. 

Jeanne  and  the  baron  at  once  went  over  to  Havre, 
but  when  they  arrived  at  the  college  they  learnt  that 
Paul  had  not  been  there  for  a  month.  The  principal 
had  received  four  letters,  apparently  from  Jeanne,  the 
first  telling  him  that  his  pupil  was  ill,  the  others  to  say 
how  he  was  getting  on,  and  each  letter  was  accompanied 


2i6  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

by  a  doctor's  certificate;  of  course  they  were  all  forged. 
Jeanne  and  her  father  looked  at  each  other  in  dismay 
when  they  heard  this  news,  and  the  principal  feeling 
very  sorry  for  them  took  them  to  a  magistrate  that  the 
police  might  be  set  to  find  the  young  man. 

Jeanne  and  the  baron  slept  at  an  hotel  that  night,  and 
the  next  day  Paul  was  discovered  at  the  house  of  a  fast 
woman.  His  mother  and  grandfather  took  him  back 
with  them  to  Les  Peuples  and  the  whole  of  the  way 
not  a  word  was  exchanged.  Jeanne  hid  her  face  in 
her  handkerchief  and  cried,  and  Paul  looked  out  of  the 
window  with  an  air  of  indifference. 

Before  the  end  of  the  week  they  found  out  that,  dur- 
ing the  last  three  months,  Paul  had  contracted  debts  to 
the  amount  of  fifteen  thousand  francs,  but  the  creditors 
had  not  gone  to  his  relations  about  the  money,  because 
they  knew  the  boy  would  soon  be  of  age.  Poulet  was 
asked  for  no  explanation  and  received  no  reproof,  as 
his  relations  hoped  to  reform  him  by  kindness.  He 
was  pampered  and  caressed  in  every  way;  the  choicest 
dishes  were  prepared  for  him,  and,  as  it  was  spring- 
time, a  boat  was  hired  for  him  at  Yport,  in  spite  of 
Jeanne's  nervousness,  that  he  might  go  sailing  when- 
ever he  liked;  the  only  thing  that  was  denied  him  was 
a  horse,  for  fear  he  should  ride  to  Havre.  He  became 
very  irritable  and  passionate  and  lived  a  perfectly  aim- 
less life.  The  baron  grieved  over  his  neglected  studies, 
and  even  Jeanne,  much  as  she  dreaded  to  be  parted 
from  him  again,  began  to  wonder  what  was  to  be  done 
with  him. 

One  evening  he  did  not  come  home.  It  was  found, 
on  inquiry,  that  he  had  gone  out  in  a  boat  with  two  sail- 
ors, and  his  distracted  mother  hurried  down  to  Yport, 


UNE  VIE  217 

without  stopping  even  to  put  anything  over  her  head. 
On  the  beach  she  found  a  few  men  awaiting  the  return 
of  the  boat,  and  out  on  the  sea  was  a  little  swaying  light, 
which  was  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  shore. 
The  boat  came  in,  but  Paul  was  not  on  board;  he  had 
ordered  the  men  to  take  him  to  Havre,  and  had  landed 
there. 

The  police  sought  him  in  vain;  he  was  nowhere  to  be 
found,  and  the  woman  who  had  hidden  him  once  be- 
fore had  sold  all  her  furniture,  paid  her  rent,  and  dis- 
appeared also,  without  leaving  any  trace  behind  her. 
In  Paul's  room  at  Les  Peuples  two  letters  were  found 
from  this  creature  (who  seemed  madly  in  love  with 
him)  saying  that  she  had  obtained  the  necessary  money 
for  a  journey  to  England.  The  three  inmates  of  the 
chateau  lived  on,  gloomy  and  despairing,  through  all 
this  mental  torture.  Jeanne's  hair,  which  had  been 
grav  before,  was  now  quite  white,  and  she  sometimes 
asked  herself  what  she  could  have  done,  that  Fate 
should  so  mercilessly  pursue  her.  One  day  she  received 
the  following  letter  from  the  Abbe  Tolbiac : 

"  Madame:  The  hand  of  God  has  been  laid  heav- 
ily upon  you.  You  refused  to  give  your  son  to  him, 
and  he  has  delivered  him  over  to  a  prostitute;  will  you 
not  profit  by  this  lesson  from  heaven?  God's  mercy  is 
infinite,  and  perhaps  he  will  pardon  you  If  you  throw 
yourself  at  his  feet.  I  am  his  humble  servant,  and  I 
will  open  his  door  to  you  when  you  come  and  knock." 

Jeanne  sat  for  a  long  time  with  this  letter  lying  open 
on  her  knees.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the  priest's  words 
were  true;  and  all  her  religious  doubts  and  uncertainties 


2i8  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

returned  to  harass  her  mind.  Was  it  possible  that  God 
could  be  vindictive  and  jealous  like  men?  But  if  he 
was  not  jealous,  he  would  no  longer  be  feared  and  loved, 
and,  no  doubt,  it  was  that  we  might  the  better  know 
him,  that  he  manifested  himself  to  men,  as  influenced 
by  the  same  feeling  as  themselves.  Then  she  felt  the 
fear,  the  cowardly  dread,  which  urges  those  who  hesi- 
tate and  doubt  to  seek  the  safety  of  the  Church,  and  one 
evening,  when  it  was  dark,  she  stealthily  ran  to  the 
vicarage,  and  knelt  at  the  foot  of  the  fragile-looking 
priest  to  solicit  absolution.  He  only  promised  her  a 
semi-pardon,  as  God  could  not  shower  all  his  favors  on 
a  house  which  sheltered  such  a  man  as  the  baron. 
*'  Still,  you  will  soon  receive  a  proof  of  the  divine 
mercy,"  said  the  priest. 

Two  days  later,  Jeanne  did  indeed  receive  a  letter 
from  her  son,  and  in  the  excess  of  her  grief,  she  looked 
upon  it  as  the  forerunner  of  the  consolation  promised 
by  the  abbe.     The  letter  ran  thus : 

"My  Dear  Mother:  Do  not  be  uneasy  about 
me,  I  am  at  London,  and  in  good  health,  but  in  great 
need  of  money.  W^e  have  not  a  sou,  and  some  days 
we  have  to  go  without  anything  to  eat.  She  who  is 
with  me,  and  whom  I  love  with  all  my  heart,  has  spent 
all  she  had  (some  five  thousand  francs  that  she  might 
remain  with  me,  and  you  will,  of  course,  understand 
that  I  am  bound  in  honor  to  discharge  my  debt  to  her 
at  the  very  first  opportunity.  I  shall  soon  be  of  age, 
but  It  would  be  very  good  of  you  if  you  would  advance 
me  fifteen  thousand  francs  of  what  I  inherit  from  papa; 
it  would  relieve  me  from  great  embarrassments. 


UNE  VIE  219 

*'  Good-bye,  mother  dear ;  I  hope  soon  to  see  you 
again,  but  in  the  meantime,  I  send  much  lov^e  to  grand- 
father. Aunt  Lison  and  yourself.      Your  son, 

"  VicoMTE  Paul  de  Lamare/' 

Then  he  had  not  forgotten  her,  for  he  had  written 
to  her!  She  did  not  stop  to  think  that  it  was  simply 
to  ask  her  for  money;  he  had  not  any  and  some  should 
be  sent  him;  what  did  money  matter?  He  had  writ- 
ten to  her ! 

She  ran  to  show  the  letter  to  the  baron,  the  tears 
streaming  from  her  eyes.  Aunt  Lison  was  called,  and, 
word  by  word,  they  read  over  this  letter  which  spoke 
of  their  loved  one,  and  lingered  over  every  sentence. 
Jeanne,  transported  from  the  deepest  despair  to  a  kind 
of  intoxication  of  joy,  began  to  take  Paul's  part. 

"  Now  he  has  written,  he  will  come  back,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  sure  he  will  come  back." 

"  Still  he  left  us  for  this  creature,"  said  the  baron, 
who  was  calm  enough  to  reason;  "  and  he  must  love  her 
better  than  he  does  us,  since  he  did  not  hesitate  in  his 
choice  between  her  and  his  home." 

The  words  sent  a  pang  of  anguish  through  Jeanne's 
heart,  and  within  her  sprang  up  the  fierce,  deadly  hatred 
of  a  jealous  mother  against  the  woman  who  had  robbed 
her  of  her  son.  Until  then  her  every  thought  had  been 
for  Paul,  and  she  had  hardly  realized  that  this  creature 
was  the  cause  of  all  his  errors;  but  the  baron's  argu- 
ment had  suddenly  brought  this  rival  who  possessed 
such  fatal  influence  vividly  to  her  mind,  and  she  felt 
that  between  this  woman  and  herself  there  must  be  a 
determined,  bitter  warfare.     With  that  thought  came 


220  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

another  one  as  terrible  —  that  she  would  rather  lose 
her  son  than  share  him  with  this  other;  and  all  her  joy 
and  delight  vanished. 

The  fifteen  thousand  francs  were  sent,  and  for  five 
months  nothing  more  was  heard  of  Paul.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  a  lawyer  came  to  the  chateau  to  see  about 
his  inheritance.  Jeanne  and  the  baron  acceded  to  all 
his  demands  without  any  dispute,  even  giving  up  the 
money  to  which  the  mother  had  a  right  for  her  lifetime, 
and  when  he  returned  to  Paris,  Paul  found  himself  the 
possessor  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  francs. 
During  the  next  six  months  only  four  short  letters  were 
received  from  him,  giving  news  of  his  doings  in  a  few, 
concise  sentences,  and  ending  with  formal  protestations 
of  affection. 

"  I  am  not  Idle,"  he  said.  "  I  have  obtained  a  post 
in  connection  with  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  I  hope  some 
day  to  see  my  dear  relations  at  Les  Peuples." 

He  never  mentioned  his  mistress,  but  his  silence  was 
more  significant  than  If  he  had  written  four  pages  about 
her;  and,  in  these  icy  letters,  Jeanne  could  perceive  the 
influence  of  this  unknown  woman  who  was,  by  instinct, 
the  implacable  enemy  of  every  mother. 

Ponder  as  they  would,  the  three  lonely  beings  at  the 
chateau  could  think  of  no  means  by  which  they  might 
rescue  Paul  from  his  present  life.  They  would  have 
gone  to  Paris,  but  they  knew  that  would  be  no  good. 

"  We  must  let  his  passion  wear  itself  out,"  said  the 
baron;  "  sooner  or  later  he  will  return  to  us  of  his  own 
accord."     And  the  niournful  days  dragged  on. 

Jeanne  and  Lison  got  into  the  habit  of  going  to 
church  together  without  letting  the  baron  know;  and  a 
long  time  passed  without  any  news  from  Paul.     Then, 


UNE  VIE  221 

one  morning  they  received  a  desperate  letter  which  ter- 
rified them. 

"  My  Dear  Mother:  I  am  lost;  I  shall  have  no 
resource  left  but  to  blow  out  my  brains  If  you  do  not 
help  me.  A  speculation  which  held  out  every  hope  of 
success  has  turned  the  wrong  way,  and  I  owe  eighty-five 
thousand  francs.  It  means  dishonor,  ruin,  the  destruc- 
tion of  all  my  future  if  I  do  not  pay,  and,  I  say  again, 
rather  than  survive  the  disgrace,  I  will  blow  my  brains 
out.  I  should,  perhaps,  have  done  so  already,  had  It 
not  been  for  the  brave  and  hopeful  words  of  a  woman, 
whose  name  I  never  mention  to  you,  but  who  Is  the  good 
genius  of  my  life. 

"  I  send  you  my  very  best  love,  dear  mother.  Good- 
bye, perhaps  for  ever. 

"  Paul." 

Enclosed  In  the  letter  was  a  bundle  of  business  papers 
giving  the  details  of  this  unfortunate  speculation.  The 
baron  answered  by  return  post  that  they  would  help  as 
much  as  they  could.  Then  he  went  to  Havre  to  get 
legal  advice,  mortgaged  some  property  and  forwarded 
the  m.oney  to  Paul.  The  young  man  wrote  back  three 
letters  full  of  hearty  thanks,  and  said  they  might  ex- 
pect him  almost  Immediately.  But  he  did  not  come, 
and  another  year  passed  away. 

Jeanne  and  the  baron  were  on  the  point  of  starting 
for  Paris,  to  find  him  and  make  one  last  effort  to  per- 
suade him  to  return,  when  they  received  a  few  lines 
saying  he  was  again  In  London,  starting  a  steamboat 
company  which  was  to  trade  under  the  name  of  "  Paul 
Delamare  &  Co."      "  I  am  sure  to  get  a  living  out  of 


222  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

it,"  he  wrote,  "  and  perhaps  it  will  make  my  fortune. 
At  any  rate  I  risk  nothing,  and  you  must  at  once  see  the 
advantages  of  the  scheme.  When  I  see  you  again,  I 
shall  be  well  up  in  the  world ;  there  is  nothing  like  trade 
for  making  money,  nowadays." 

Three  months  later,  the  company  went  into  liquida- 
tion, and  the  manager  was  prosecuted  for  falsifying  the 
books.  When  the  news  reached  Les  Peuples,  Jeanne 
had  a  hysterical  fit  which  lasted  several  hours.  The 
baron  went  to  Havre,  made  every  inquiry,  saw  lawyers 
and  attorneys,  and  found  that  the  Delamare  Company 
had  failed  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs. 
He  again  mortgaged  his  property,  and  borrowed  a  large 
sum  on  Les  Peuples  and  the  two  adjoining  farms.  One 
evening  he  was  going  through  some  final  formalities  in 
a  lawyer's  office,  when  he  suddenly  fell  to  the  ground 
in  an  apoplectic  fit.  A  mounted  messenger  was  at  once 
dispatched  to  Jeanne,  but  her  father  died  before  she 
could  arrive.  The  shock  was  so  great  that  it  seemed 
to  stim  Jeanne  and  she  could  not  realize  her  loss.  The 
body  was  taken  back  to  Les  Peuples,  but  the  Abbe  Tol- 
biac  refused  to  allow  it  to  be  interred  with  any  sacred 
rites,  in  spite  of  all  the  entreaties  of  the  two  women,  so 
the  burial  took  place  at  night  without  any  ceremony 
whatever.  Then  Jeanne  fell  into  a  state  of  such  utter 
depression  that  she  took  no  interest  in  anything,  and 
seemed  unable  to  comprehend  the  simplest  things. 

Paul,  who  was  still  in  hiding  in  England,  heard  of  his 
grandfather's  death  through  the  liquidators  of  the  com- 
pany, and  wrote  to  say  he  should  have  come  before,  but 
he  had  only  just  heard  the  sad  news.  He  concluded: 
"  Now    you    have    rescued    me    from    my    difficulties, 


UNE  VIE  223 

mother  dear,  I  shall  return  to  France,  and  shall  at  once 
come  to  see  you." 

Towards  the  end  of  that  winter  Aunt  Lison,  who  was 
now  sixty-eight,  had  a  severe  attack  of  bronchitis.  It 
turned  to  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and  the  old  maid 
quietly  expired. 

''  I  will  ask  the  good  God  to  take  pity  on  you,  my 
poor  little  Jeanne,"  were  the  last  words  she  uttered. 

Jeanne  followed  her  to  the  grave,  saw  the  earth  fall 
on  the  coffin,  and  then  sank  to  the  ground,  longing  for 
death  to  take  her  also  that  she  might  cease  to  think  and 
to  suffer.  As  she  fell  a  big,  strong  peasant  woman 
caught  her  in  her  arms  and  carried  her  away  as  if  she 
had  been  a  child ;  she  took  her  back  to  the  chateau,  and 
Jeanne  let  herself  be  put  to  bed  by  this  stranger,  who 
handled  her  so  tenderly  and  firmly,  and  at  once  fell 
asleep,  for  she  had  spent  the  last  five  nights  watching 
beside  the  old  maid,  and  she  was  thoroughly  exhausted 
by  sorrow  and  fatigue.  It  was  the  middle  of  the  night 
when  she  again  opened  her  eyes.  A  night-lamp  was 
burning  on  the  mantelpiece,  and,  in  the  armchair,  lay  a 
woman  asleep.  Jeanne  did  not  know  who  it  was,  and, 
leaning  over  the  side  of  the  bed,  she  tried  to  make  out 
her  features  by  the  glimmering  light  of  the  night-lamp. 
She  fancied  she  had  seen  this  face  before,  but  she  could 
not  remember  when  or  where. 

The  woman  was  quietly  sleeping,  her  head  drooping 
on  one  shoulder,  her  cap  lying  on  the  ground  and  her 
big  hands  hanging  on  each  side  of  the  armchair.  She 
was  a  strong,  square-built  peasant  of  about  forty  or 
forty-five,  with  a  red  face  and  hair  that  was  turrting 
gray.     Jeanne  was  sure  she  had  seen  her  before,  'lut 


224  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

she  had  not  the  least  Idea  whether  It  was  a  long  time 
ago  or  quite  recently,  and  It  worried  her  to  find  she 
could  not  remember.  She  softly  got  out  of  bed,  and 
went  on  tiptoe  to  see  the  sleeping  woman  nearer.  She 
recognized  her  as  the  peasant  who  had  caught  her  in 
her  arms  In  the  cemetery,  and  had  afterwards  put  her 
to  bed;  but  surely  she  had  known  her  in  former  times, 
under  other  circumstances.  And  yet  perhaps  the  face 
was  only  familiar  to  her  because  she  had  seen  It  that 
day  In  the  cemetery.  Still  how  was  It  that  the  woman 
was  sleeping  here? 

Just  then  the  stranger  opened  her  eyes  and  saw 
Jeanne  standing  beside  her.  She  started  up,  and  they 
stood  face  to  face,  so  close  together  that  they  touched 
each  other. 

"  How  Is  it  that  you're  out  of  bed?  "  said  the  peas- 
ant; "you'll  make  yourself  111,  getting  up  at  this  time 
of  night.      Go  back  to  bed  again." 

"  Who  are  you?  "  asked  Jeanne. 

The  woman  made  no  answer,  but  picked  Jeanne  up 
and  carried  her  back  to  bed  as  easily  as  If  she  had  been 
a  baby.  She  gently  laid  her  down,  and,  as  she  bent 
over  her,  she  suddenly  began  to  cover  her  cheeks,  her 
hair,  her  eyes  with  violent  kisses,  while  the  tears 
streamed  from  her  eyes. 

"My  poor  mistress!  Mam'zelle  Jeanne,  my  poor 
mistress !      Don't  you  know  me?  "  she  sobbed. 

"  Rosalie,  my  lass!  "  cried  Jeanne,  throwing  her  arms 
round  the  woman's  neck  and  kissing  her;  and,  clasped 
in  each  other's  arms  they  mingled  their  tears  and  sobs 
together. 

Rosalie  dried  her  eyes  the  first.  "  Come  now,"  she 
said,  "  you  must  be  good  and  not  catch  cold." 


UNE  VIE  225 

She  picked  up  the  clothes,  tucked  up  the  bed  and  put 
the  pillow  back  under  the  head  of  her  former  mistress, 
who  lav  choking  with  emotion  as  the  memories  of  days 
that  were  past  and  gone  rushed  back  to  her  mind. 

"  How  is  it  you  have  come  back,  my  poor  girl?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Do  you  think  I  was  going  to  leave  you  to  live  all 
alone  now?  "  answered  Rosalie. 

"  Light  a  candle  and  let  me  look  at  you,"  went  on 
Jeanne. 

Rosalie  placed  a  light  on  the  table  by  the  bedside,  and 
for  a  long  time  they  gazed  at  each  other  in  silence. 

"  I  should  never  have  known  you  again,"  murmured 
Jeanne,  holding  out  her  hand  to  her  old  servant. 
"  You  have  altered  very  much,  though  not  so  much  as  I 
have." 

"  Yes,  you  have  changed,  Madame  Jeanne,  and  more 
than  you  ought  to  have  done,"  answered  Rosalie,  as  she 
looked  at  this  thin,  faded,  white-haired  woman,  whom 
she  had  left  young  and  beautiful;  "but  you  must  re- 
mem.ber  It's  twenty-four  years  since  we  have  seen  one 
another." 

"  Well,  have  you  been  happy?  "  asked  Jeanne  after 
a  long  pause. 

"Oh,  yes  —  yes,  madame.  I  haven't  had  much  to 
grumble  at ;  I've  been  happier  than  you  —  that's  cer- 
tain. The  only  thing  that  I'v^e  always  regretted  is  that 
I  didn't  stop  here  — "  She  broke  off  abruptly,  finding 
she  had  unthinkingly  touched  upon  the  very  subject  she 
wished  to  avoid. 

"  Well,  you  know,  Rosalie,  one  cannot  have  every- 
thing one  wants,"  replied  Jeanne  gently;  "  and  now  you 

too  arc  a  widow,  are  you  not?  "     Then  her  voice  trcm- 
V— 15 


226  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

bled,  as  she  went  on,  "  Have  you  any  —  any  other  chil- 
dren? " 

''  No,  madame." 

"And  what  is  your  —  your  son?  Are  you  satisfied 
with  him?  " 

"  Yes,  madame;  he's  a  good  lad,  and  a  hard-working 
one.  He  married  about  six  months  ago,  and  he  is 
going  to  have  the  farm  now  I  have  come  back  to  you." 

"Then  you  will  not  leave  me  again?"  murmured 
Jeanne. 

"  No  fear,  madame,"  answered  Rosalie  in  a  rough 
tone.      "  I've  arranged  all  about  that." 

And  for  some  time  nothing  more  was  said. 

Jeanne  could  not  help  comparing  Rosalie's  life  with 
her  own,  but  she  had  become  quite  resigned  to  the  cru- 
elty and  injustice  of  Fate,  and  she  felt  no  bitterness  as 
she  thought  of  the  difference  between  her  maid's  peace- 
ful existence  and  her  own. 

"  Was  your  husband  kind  to  you?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  madame;  he  was  a  good,  industrious  fel- 
low, and  managed  to  put  by  a  good  deal.  He  died  of 
consumption," 

Jeanne  sat  up  in  bed.  "  Tell  me  all  about  your  life, 
and  everything  that  has  happened  to  you,"  she  said. 
"  I  feel  as  if  it  would  do  me  good  to  hear  it." 

Rosalie  drew  up  a  chair,  sat  down,  and  began  to  talk 
about  herself,  her  house,  her  friends,  entering  into  all 
the  little  details  in  which  country  people  delight,  laugh- 
ing sometimes  over  things  which  made  her  think  of  the 
happy  times  that  were  over,  and  gradually  raising  her 
voice  as  she  went  on,  like  a  woman  accustomed  to  com- 
mand, she  wound  up  by  saying: 

"  Oh,  I'm  well  off  now;  I  needn't  be  afraid  of  any- 


UNE  VIE  227 

thing.  But  I  owe  It  all  to  you,"  she  added  in  a  lower, 
faltering  voice;  "  and  now  I've  come  back  I'm  not  going 
to  take  any  wages.  No!  I  won't!  So,  if  you  don't 
choose  to  have  me  on  those  terms,  I  shall  go  away 
again." 

''  But  you  do  not  mean  to  serve  me  for  nothing?  " 
said  Jeanne. 

"Yes,  I  do,  madame.  Money!  You  give  me 
money!  Why,  I've  almost  as  much  as  you  have  your- 
self. Do  you  know  how  much  you  will  have  after  all 
these  loans  and  mortgages  have  been  cleared  off,  and 
you  have  paid  all  the  interest  you  have  let  run  on  and 
increase  ?  You  don't  know,  do  you  ?  Well,  then,  let 
me  tell  you  that  you  haven't  ten  thousand  livres  a  year; 
not  ten  thousand.  But  I'm  going  to  put  everything 
straight,  and  pretty  soon,  too." 

She  had  again  raised  her  voice,  for  the  thought  of  the 
ruin  which  hung  ov^er  the  house,  and  the  way  in  which 
the  Interest  money  had  been  neglected  and  allowed  to 
accumulate  roused  her  anger  and  Indignation.  A  faint, 
sad  smile  which  passed  over  her  mistress's  face  angered 
her  still  more,  and  she  cried: 

"  You  ought  not  to  laugh  at  It,  madame.  People 
are  good  for  nothing  without  money." 

Jeanne  took  both  the  servant's  hands  in  hers. 
"  I  have  never  had  any  luck,"  she  said  slowly,  as  if 
she    could    think    of   nothing    else.      "  Everything    has 
gone  the  wrong  way  with  me.      My  whole  life  has  been 
ruined  by  a  cruel  Fate." 

"  You  must  not  talk  like  that,  madame,"  said  Rosa- 
He,  shaking  her  head.  "  You  made  an  unhappy  mar- 
riage, that's  all.  But  people  oughtn't  to  marry  before 
they  know  anything  about  their  future  husbands." 


228  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

They  went  on  talking  about  themselves  and  their  past 
loves  like  two  old  friends,  and  when  the  day  dawned 
they  had  not  yet  told  all  they  had  to  say. 

XII 

In  less  than  a  week  Rosalie  had  everything  and 
everybody  in  the  chateau  under  her  control,  and 
even  Jeanne  yielded  a  passive  obedience  to  the  serv- 
ant, who  scolded  her  or  soothed  her  as  if  she  had 
been  a  sick  child.  She  was  very  weak  now,  and  her 
legs  dragged  along  as  the  baroness's  used  to  do;  the 
maid  supported  her  when  she  went  out  and  their  con- 
versation was  always  about  bygone  times,  of  which 
Jeanne  talked  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  Rosalie  in 
the  calm  quiet  way  of  an  impassive  peasant. 

The  old  servant  returned  several  times  to  the  ques- 
tion of  the  interest  that  was  owing,  and  demanded  the 
papers  which  Jeanne,  ignorant  of  all  business  matters, 
had  hidden  away  that  Rosalie  might  not  know  of  Paul's 
misdoings.  Next  Rosalie  went  over  to  Fecamp  each 
day  for  a  week  to  get  everything  explained  to  her  by  a 
lawyer  whom  she  knew;  then  one  evening  after  she  had 
put  her  mistress  to  bed  she  sat  down  beside  her  and 
said  abruptly: 

"  Now  you're  in  bed,  madame,  we  will  have  a  little 
talk." 

She  told  Jeanne  exactly  how  matters  stood,  and  that 
when  every  claim  had  been  settled  she,  Jeanne,  would 
have  about  seven  or  eight  thousand  francs  a  year;  not 
a  penny  more. 

"  Well,  Rosalie,"  answered  Jeanne,  "  I  know  I  shall 


UNE  VIE  229 

not  live  to  be  very  old,  and  I  shall  have  enough  until 
1  die." 

"  Very  likely  you  will,  madame,"  replied  Rosalie,  get- 
ting angry;  "but  how  about  JM.  Paul?  Don't  you 
mean  to  leave  him  anything?  " 

Jeanne  shuddered.  "  Pray,  don't  ever  speak  to  me 
about  him;   I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  him." 

"  Yes,  but  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  him,  because 
you  don't  look  at  things  in  the  right  light,  Madame 
Jeanne.  He  may  be  doing  all  sorts  of  foolish  things 
now,  but  he  won't  always  behave  the  same.  He'll 
marry  and  then  he'll  want  money  to  educate  his  chil- 
dren and  to  bring  them  up  properly.  Now  listen  to 
what  I  am  going  to  say;  you  must  sell  Les  Peuples  — " 

But  Jeanne  started  up  in  bed. 

"  Sell  Les  Peuples!  How  can  you  think  of  such  a 
thing?     No!      I  will  never  sell  the  chateau!" 

Rosalie  was  not  in  the  least  put  out. 

"  But  I  say  you  will,  madame,  simply  because  you 
must." 

Then  she  explained  her  plans  and  her  calculations. 
She  had  already  found  a  purchaser  for  Les  Peuples  and 
the  two  adjoining  farms,  and  when  they  had  been  sold 
Jeanne  would  still  have  four  farms  at  Saint  Leonard, 
which,  freed  from  the  mortgages,  would  bring  in  about 
eight  thousand  three  hundred  francs  a  year.  Out  of 
this  income  thirteen  hundred  francs  would  have  to  go 
for  the  keeping  up  and  repairing  of  the  property;  two 
thousand  would  be  put  by  for  unforeseen  expenses,  and 
Jeanne  would  have  five  thousand  francs  to  live  upon. 

"  Everything  else  is  gone,  so  there's  an  end  of  it," 
said  Rosalie.      "  But,  in  future,  I  shall  keep  the  monev. 


230  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

and  M.  Paul  sha'n't  have  another  penny  off  you.  He'd 
take  your  last  farthing." 

"But  if  he  has  not  anything  to  eat?"  murmured 
Jeanne,  who  was  quietly  weeping. 

"  He  can  come  to  us  if  he's  hungry;  there'll  always 
be  victuals  and  a  bed  for  him.  He'd  never  have  got 
into  trouble  if  you  hadn't  given  him  any  money  the  first 
time  he  asked  for  some." 

"  But  he  was  in  debt;  he  would  have  been  dishon- 
ored." 

"  And  don't  you  think  he'll  get  into  debt  just  the 
same  when  you've  no  more  money  to  give  him?  You 
have  paid  his  debts  up  to  now,  so  well  and  good;  but 
you  won't  pay  any  more,  I  can  tell  you.  And  now, 
good-night,  madame." 

And  away  she  went. 

The  idea  of  selling  Les  Peuples  and  leaving  the  house 
where  she  had  passed  all  her  life  threw  Jeanne  into  a 
state  of  extreme  agitation,  and  she  lay  awake  the  whole 
night,  "  I  shall  never  be  able  to  go  away  from  here," 
she  said,  when  Rosalie  came  into  the  room  next  morn- 
ing. 

"  You'll  have  to,  all  the  same,  madame,"  answered 
the  maid  with  rising  temper.  "  The  lawyer  is  coming 
presently  with  the  man  who  wants  to  buy  the  chateau, 
and,  if  you  don't  sell  it,  you  won't  have  a  blade  of 
grass  to  call  your  own  in  four  years'  time." 

"  Oh,  I  cannot!     I  cannot!  "  moaned  Jeanne. 

But  an  hour  afterwards  came  a  letter  from  Paul  ask- 
ing for  ten  thousand  francs.  What  was  to  be  done? 
Jeanne  did  not  know,  and,  in  her  distress,  she  consulted 
Rosalie,  who  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  observed: 

"  What  did  I  tell  you,  madame?     Oh,  you'd  both  of 


UNE  VIE  231 

you  have  been  in  a  nice  muddle  if  I  hadn't  come  back." 
Then,  by  her  advice,  Jeanne  wrote  baclc : 

"  My  Dear  Son  :  I  cannot  help  you  any  more ;  you 
have  ruined  me,  and  I  am  even  obliged  to  sell  Les  Peu- 
ples.  But  I  shall  always  have  a  home  for  you  whenever 
you  choose  to  return  to  your  poor  old  mother,  who  has 
suffered  so  cruelly  through  you.  Jeanne." 

The  lawyer  came  with  M.  Jeoffrin,  who  was  a  re- 
tired sugar  baker,  and  Jeanne  herself  received  them,  and 
invited  them  to  go  all  over  the  house  and  grounds. 
Then  a  month  after  this  visit,  she  signed  the  deed  of 
sale,  and  bought,  at  the  same  time,  a  little  villa  in  the 
hamlet  of  Batteville,  standing  on  the  JMontivilliers  high- 
road, near  Goderville. 

After  she  had  signed  the  deeds  she  went  out  to  the 
baroness's  avenue,  and  walked  up  and  down,  heart- 
broken and  miserable  while  she  bade  tearful,  despairing 
farewells  to  the  trees,  the  worm-eaten  bench  under  the 
plane  tree,  the  wood,  the  old  elm  trunk,  against  which 
she  had  leant  so  many  times,  and  the  hillock,  where 
she  had  so  often  sat,  and  whence  she  had  watched  the 
Comte  de  Fourville  running  towards  the  sea  on  the 
awful  day  of  Julien's  death.  She  stayed  out  until  the 
evening,  and  at  last  Rosalie  went  to  look  for  her  and 
brought  her  in.  A  tall  peasant  of  about  twenty-five 
v/as  waiting  at  the  door.  He  greeted  Jeanne  in  a 
friendly  way,  as  if  he  had  known  her  a  long  while : 

"  Good-day,  Madame  Jeanne,  how  are  you?  Mother 
told  me  I  was  to  come  and  help  with  the  moving,  and  I 
wanted  to  know  what  you  meant  to  take  with  you,  so 
that  I  could  move  it  a  little  at  a  tim.e  without  it  hinder- 
ing the  farm  work." 


232  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

He  was  Rosalie's  son  —  Jullen's  son  and  Paul's 
brother.  Jeanne's  heart  almost  stood  still  as  she  looked 
at  him,  and  yet  she  would  have  liked  to  kiss  the  young 
fellow.  She  gazed  at  him,  trying  to  find  any  likeness  to 
her  husband  or  her  son.  He  was  robust  and  ruddy- 
cheeked  and  had  his  mother's  fair  hair  and  blue  eyes, 
but  there  was  something  in  his  face  which  reminded 
Jeanne  of  Julien,  though  she  could  not  discover  where 
the  resemblance  lay. 

"  I  should  be  very  much  obliged  if  you  could  show 
me  the  things  now,"  continued  the  lad. 

But  she  did  not  know  herself  yet  what  she  should  be 
able  to  take,  her  new  house  was  so  small,  and  she  asked 
him  to  come  again  in  a  week's  time. 

For  some  time  the  removal  occupied  Jeanne's 
thoughts,  and  made  a  change,  though  a  sad  one,  in  her 
dull,  hopeless  life.  She  went  from  room  to  room,  seek- 
ing the  pieces  of  furniture  which  were  associated  in  her 
mind  with  various  events  in  her  life,  for  the  furniture 
among  which  we  live  becomes,  in  time,  part  of  our 
lives  —  almost  of  ourselves  — ■  and,  as  it  gets  old,  and 
we  look  at  its  faded  colors,  its  frayed  coverings,  its  tat- 
tered linings,  we  are  reminded  of  the  prominent  dates 
and  events  of  our  existence  by  these  time-worn  objects 
which  have  been  the  mute  companions  of  our  happy  and 
of  our  sad  moments  alike. 

As  agitated  as  if  the  decisions  she  were  making  had 
been  of  the  last  importance,  Jeanne  chose,  one  by  one, 
the  things  she  should  take  with  her,  often  hesitating  and 
altering  her  mind  at  every  moment,  as  she  stood  unable 
to  decide  the  respective  merits  of  two  armchairs,  or  of 
some  old  escritoire  and  a  still  older  worktable.  She 
opened  and  searched  every  drawer,  and  tried  to  con- 


UNE  VIE  233 

nect  every  object  with  something  that  had  happened  in 
bygone  days,  and  when  at  last  she  made  up  her  mind 
and  said:  "  Yes,  I  shall  take  this,"  the  article  she  had 
decided  upon  was  taken  downstairs  and  put  into  the 
dining-room.  She  wished  to  keep  the  whole  of  her  bed- 
room furniture,  the  bed,  the  tapestry,  the  clock  —  every- 
thing, and  she  also  took  a  few  of  the  drawing-room 
chairs,  choosing  those  with  the  designs  she  had  always 
liked  ever  since  she  could  remember  —  the  fox  and  the 
stork,  the  fox  and  the  crow,  the  ant  and  the  grasshop- 
per, and  the  solitary  heron. 

One  day,  as  she  was  wandering  all  over  this  house 
she  should  so  soon  have  to  leave,  Jeanne  went  up  into 
the   garret.      She   was   amazed   when   she   opened   the 
door;  there  lay  articles  of  furniture  of  every  description, 
some  broken,    others   only  soiled,   others   again  stored 
away  simply  because  fresh  things  had  been  bought  and 
put  in  their  places.      She  recognized  a  hundred  little 
odds  and  ends  which  used  to  be  downstairs  and  had  dis- 
appeared without  her  noticing  their  absence  —  things  of 
no  value  which  she  had  often  used,  insignificant  little 
articles,  which  had  stood  fifteen  years  beneath  her  eyes 
and  had  never  attracted  her  attention,  but  which  now  — 
suddenly  discovered  in  the  lumber-room,  lying  side  by 
side  with  other  things  older  still  and  which  she  could 
quite  distinctly  remember  seeing  when  she  first  returned 
from  the  convent  —  became  as  precious  In  her  eyes  as 
if  they  had  been  valued  friends  that  had  been  a  long 
time  absent  from  her.     They  appeared  to  her  under 
a  new  light,  and  as  she  looked  at  them  she  felt  as  she 
might  have  done  if  any  very  reserved  acquaintances  had 
suddenly  begun  to  talk  and  to  reveal  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings she  had  never  dreamed  they  possessed. 


234  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

As  she  went  from  one  thing  to  another,  and  remem- 
bered Httle  incidents  in  connection  with  them,  her  heart 
felt  as  if  it  would  break.  "  Why,  this  is  the  china  cup 
I  cracked  a  few  days  before  I  was  married,  and  here 
is  mamma's  little  lantern,  and  the  cane  papa  broke  try- 
ing to  open  the  wooden  gate  the  rain  had  swollen." 

Besides  all  these  familiar  objects  there  were  a  great 
many  things  she  had  never  seen  before,  which  had  be- 
longed to  her  grandparents  or  her  great-grandparents. 
Covered  with  dust  they  looked  like  sad,  forsaken  exiles 
from  another  century,  their  history  and  adventures  for 
ever  lost,  for  there  was  no  one  living  now  who  had 
known  those  who  had  chosen,  bought  and  treasured 
them,  or  who  had  seen  the  hands  which  had  so  often 
touched  them  or  the  eyes  which  had  found  such  pleasure 
in  looking  at  them.  Jeanne  touched  them,  and  turned 
them  about,  her  fingers  leaving  their  traces  on  the  thick 
dust;  and  she  stayed  for  a  long,  long  time  amidst  these 
old  things,  in  the  garret  which  was  dimly  lighted  by  a 
little  skylight. 

She  tried  to  find  other  things  with  associations  to 
them,  and  very  carefully  she  examined  some  three- 
legged  chairs,  a  copper  warming-pan,  a  dented  foot- 
warmer  (which  she  thought  she  remembered)  and  all 
the  other  worn-out  household  utensils.  Then  she  put 
all  the  things  she  thought  she  should  like  to  take  away 
together,  and  going  downstairs,  sent  Rosalie  up  to  fetch 
them.  The  latter  indignantly  refused  to  bring  down 
"  such  rubbish,"  but  Jeanne,  though  she  hardly  ever 
showed  any  will  of  her  own,  now  would  have  her  own 
way  this  time,  and  the  servant  had  to  obey. 

One   morning   young    Denis   Lecoq    (Julien's    son) 
came,  with  his  cart,  to  take  way  the  first  lot  of  things, 


UNE  VIE  235 

and  Rosalie  went  off  with  him  to  look  after  the  unload- 
ing, and  to  see  that  the  furniture  was  put  into  the  right 
rooms. 

When  she  was  alone  Jeanne  began  to  visit  every  room 
in  the  chateau,  and  to  kiss  in  a  transport  of  passionate 
sorrow  and  regret  everything  that  she  was  forced  to 
leave  behind  her  —  the  big  white  birds  in  the  drawing- 
room  tapestry,  the  old  candlesticks,  anything  and  every- 
thing that  came  in  her  way.  She  v/ent  from  room  to 
room,  half  mad  with  grief,  and  the  tears  streaming 
from  her  eyes,  and,  when  she  had  gone  all  over  the 
house,  she  went  out  to  "  say  good-bye  "  to  the  sea.  It 
was  the  end  of  September,  and  the  dull  yellowish  waves 
stretched  away  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  under  the 
lowering  gray  sky  which  hung  over  the  world.  For 
a  long,  long  while,  Jeanne  stood  on  the  cliff,  her 
thoughts  running  on  all  her  sorrows  and  troubles,  and  it 
was  not  till  night  drew  on  that  she  went  indoors.  In 
that  day  she  had  gone  through  as  much  suffering  as  she 
had  ever  passed  through  in  her  greatest  griefs. 

Rosalie  had  returned  enchanted  with  the  new  house, 
*'  which  was  much  livelier  than  this  big  barn  of  a  place 
that  was  not  even  on  a  main  road,"  but  her  mistress 
wept  the  whole  ev^ening. 

Now  they  knew  the  chateau  was  sold  the  farmers 
showed  Jeanne  barely  the  respect  that  was  due  to  her, 
and,  though  they  hardly  knew  why,  among  themselves 
they  always  spoke  of  her  as  "  that  lunatic."  Perhaps, 
with  their  brute-like  instinct,  they  perceived  her  un- 
healthy and  increasing  sentimentality,  her  morbid 
reveries,  and  the  disordered  and  pitiful  state  of  her 
mind  which  so  much  sorrow  and  affliction  had  unhinged. 

Happening  to  go  through  the  stables  the  day  before 


236  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

she  was  to  leave  Les  Peuples,  Jeanne  came  upon  Pvias- 
sacre,  whose  existence  she  had  entirely  forgotten. 
Long  past  the  age  at  which  dogs  generally  die,  he  had 
become  blind  and  paralyzed,  and  dragged  out  his  life 
on  a  bed  of  straw,  whither  Ludivine,  who  never  forgot 
him,  brought  him  his  food.  Jeanne  took  him  up  in 
her  arms,  kissed  him  and  carried  him  into  the  house; 
he  could  hardly  creep  along,  his  legs  were  so  stiff,  and 
he  barked  like  a  child's  wooden  toy-dog. 

At  length  the  last  day  dawned.  Jeanne  had  passed 
the  night  in  Julien's  old  room,  as  all  the  furniture  had 
been  moved  out  of  hers,  and  when  she  rose  she  felt 
as  tired  and  exhausted  as  if  she  had  just  been  running 
a  long  distance. 

Li  the  court-yard  stood  the  gig  in  which  Rosalie  and 
her  mistress  were  to  go,  and  a  cart  on  which  the  re- 
mainder of  the  furniture  and  the  trunks  were  already 
loaded.  Ludivine  and  old  Simon  were  to  stay  at  the 
chateau  until  its  new  owner  arrived,  and  then,  too  old 
to  stay  in  service  any  longer,  they  were  going  to  their 
friends  to  live  on  their  savings  and  the  pensions  Jeanne 
had  given  them.  Marius  had  married  and  left  the 
chateau  long  ago. 

About  eight  o'clock  a  fine,  cold  rain,  which  the  wind 
drove  in  slanting  lines,  began  to  fall,  and  the  furniture 
on  the  cart  had  to  be  covered  over  with  tarpaulins. 
Some  steaming  cups  of  coffee  stood  on  the  kitchen-table, 
and  Jeanne  sat  down  and  slowly  drank  hers  up ;  then 
rising: 

"  Let  us  go,"  she  said. 

She  began  to  put  on  her  hat  and  shawl,  while  Rosalie 
put  on  her  goloshes.  A  great  lump  rose  in  her  throat, 
and  she  whispered : 


UNE  VIE  237 

"  Rosalie,  do  you  remember  how  it  rained  the  day 
we  left  Rouen  to  come  here?  " 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  pressed  her  hands  to  her 
heart,  and  fell  backwards  in  a  sort  of  fit.  For  more 
than  an  hour  she  lay  as  if  she  were  dead,  then,  when 
she  at  length  recovered  consciousness,  she  went  into 
violent  hysterics.  Gradually  she  became  calmer,  but 
this  attack  had  left  her  so  weak  that  she  could  not  rise 
to  her  feet.  Rosalie,  fearing  another  attack  if  they  did 
not  get  her  away  at  once,  went  for  her  son,  and  between 
them,  they  carried  her  to  the  gig,  and  placed  her  on  the 
leather-covered  seat.  Rosalie  got  up  beside  her, 
wrapped  up  her  legs,  threw  a  thick  cloak  over  her 
shoulders,  then,  opening  an  umbrella  over  her  head, 
cried: 

"  Make  haste,  and  let's  get  off,  Denis." 

The  young  man  climbed  up  by  his  mother,  sat  down 
with  one  leg  right  outside  the  gig,  for  want  of  room, 
and  started  off  his  horse  at  a  quick  jerky  trot,  which 
shook  the  two  women  from  side  to  side.  As  they 
turned  the  corner  of  the  village,  they  saw  someone 
walking  up  and  down  the  road;  It  was  the  Abbe  Tol- 
biac,  apparently  waiting  to  see  their  departure.  He 
was  holding  up  his  cassock  with  one  hand  to  keep  it 
out  of  the  wet,  regardless  of  showing  his  thin  legs 
which  were  encased  in  black  stockings,  and  his  huge, 
muddy  boots.  When  he  saw  the  carriage  coming  he 
stopped,  and  stood  on  one  side  to  let  it  pass.  Jeanne 
looked  down  to  avoid  meeting  his  eyes,  while  Rosalie, 
who  had  heard  all  about  him,  furiously  muttered: 
"  You  brute,  you  brute!  "  and  seizing  her  son's  hand, 
*'  Give  him  a  cut  with  the  whip !  "  she  exclaimed.  The 
young  man  did  not  do  that,  but  he  urged  on  his  horse 


238  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

and  then,  jus'c  as  they  were  passing  the  Abbe,  suddenly 
let  the  wheel  of  the  gig  drop  into  a  deep  rut.  There 
was  a  splash,  and,  in  an  instant,  the  priest  was  covered 
with  mud  from  head  to  foot.  Rosalie  laughed  all  over 
her  face,  and  turning  round,  she  shook  her  fist  at  the 
abbe  as  he  stood  wiping  himself  down  with  his  big 
handkerchief. 

''  Oh,  we  have  forgotten  Massacre !  "  suddenly  cried 
Jeanne.  Denis  pulled  up,  gave  Rosalie  the  reins  to 
hold,  and  jumped  down  to  run  and  fetch  the  dog. 
Then  in  a  few  minutes  he  came  back  with  the  big, 
shapeless  animal  in  his  arms  and  placed  him  in  the  gig 
between  the  two  women. 

XIII 

After  a  two  hours'  drive  the  gig  drew  up  be- 
fore a  little  brick  house,  standing  by  the  high 
road  in  the  middle  of  an  orchard  planted  with 
pear-trees.  Four  lattice-work  arbors  covered  with 
honeysuckle  and  clematis  stood  at  the  four  corners  of 
the  garden,  which  was  planted  with  vegetables,  and  laid 
out  in  little  beds  with  narrow  paths  bordered  with  fruit- 
trees  running  between  them,  and  both  garden  and 
orchard  were  entirely  surrounded  by  a  thickset  hedge 
which  divided  them  from  a  field  belonging  to  the  next 
farm.  About  thirty  yards  lower  down  the  road  was  a 
forge,  and  that  was  the  only  dwelling  within  a  mile. 
All  around  lay  fields  and  plains  with  farms  scattered 
here  and  there,  half-hidden  by  the  four  double  rows  of 
big  trees  which  surrounded  them. 

Jeanne  wanted  to  rest  as  soon  as  they  arrived,  but 
Rosalie,  wishing  to  keep  her  from  thinking,  would  not 


UNE  VIE  239 

let  her  do  so.  The  carpenter  from  Godervllle  had 
come  to  help  them  put  the  place  In  order,  and  they  all 
began  to  arrange  the  furniture  which  was  already  there 
without  waiting  for  the  last  cart-load  which  was  coming 
on.  The  arrangement  of  the  rooms  took  a  long  time, 
for  everyone's  ideas  and  opinions  had  to  be  consulted, 
and  then  the  cart  from  Les  Peuples  arrived,  and  had  to 
be  unloaded  In  the  rain.  When  night  fell  the  house 
was  In  a  state  of  utter  disorder,  and  all  the  rooms  were 
full  of  things  piled  anyhow  one  on  top  of  the  other. 
Jeanne  was  tired  out  and  fell  asleep  as  soon  as  her 
head  touched  the  pillow. 

The  next  few  days  there  was  so  much  to  do  that 
she  had  no  time  to  fret;  in  fact,  she  even  found  a 
certain  pleasure  in  making  her  new  home  pretty,  for  all 
the  time  she  was  working  she  thought  that  her  son 
would  one  day  come  and  live  there.  The  tapestry 
from  her  bedroom  at  Les  Peuples  was  hung  In  the 
dining-room,  which  was  also  to  serve  as  drawing-room, 
and  Jeanne  took  especial  pains  over  the  arrangement 
of  one  of  the  rooms  on  the  first  floor,  which  in  her 
own  mind  she  had  already  named  "  Poulet's  room;" 
she  was  to  have  the  other  one  on  that  floor,  and  Rosalie 
was  to  sleep  upstairs  next  to  the  box-room.  The  little 
house  thus  tastefully  arranged,  looked  pretty  when  it 
was  all  finished,  and  at  first  Jeanne  was  pleased  with  it 
though  she  was  haunted  by  the  feeling  that  there  was 
something  missing  though  she  could  not  tell  what. 

One  morning  a  clerk  came  over  from  the  attorney  at 
Fecamp  with  the  three  thousand  six  hundred  francs,  the 
price  at  which  an  upholsterer  had  valued  the  furniture 
left  at  Les  Peuples.  Jeanne  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  as 
she  took  the  money,  for  she  had  not  expected  to  get  so 


240  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

much,  and  as  soon  as  the  man  had  gone  she  put  on  her 
hat  and  hurried  off  to  Goderville  to  send  Paul  this  un- 
looked-for sum  as  quicls-ly  as  possible.  But  as  she  was 
hastening  along  the  road  she  met  Rosalie  coming  back 
from  market;  the  maid  suspected  that  something  had 
happened  though  she  did  not  at  once  guess  the  truth. 
She  soon  found  it  out,  however,  for  Jeanne  could  not 
hide  anything  from  her,  and  placing  her  basket  on  the 
ground  to  give  way  to  her  wrath  at  her  ease,  she  put 
her  hands  on  her  hips  and  scolded  Jeanne  at  the  top 
of  her  voice;  then  she  took  hold  of  her  mistress  with 
her  right  hand  and  her  basket  with  her  left  and  walked 
on  again  towards  the  house  in  a  great  passion.  As 
soon  as  they  were  indoors  Rosalie  ordered  the  money 
to  be  given  into  her  care,  and  Jeanne  gave  it  her  with 
the  exception  of  the  six  hundred  francs  which  she  said 
nothing  about;  but  this  trick  was  soon  detected  and 
Jeanne  had  to  give  it  all  up.  However,  Rosalie  con- 
sented to  these  odd  hundreds  being  sent  to  the  young 
man,  who  in  a  few  days  wrote  to  thank  his  mother  for 
the  money.  "  It  was  a  most  welcome  present,  mother 
dear,"  he  said,  "  for  we  were  reduced  to  utter  want." 

Time  went  on  but  Jeanne  could  not  get  accustomed 
to  her  new  home.  It  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  breathe 
freely  at  Batteville,  and  she  felt  more  alone  and  for- 
saken than  ever.  She  would  often  walk  as  far  as  the 
village  of  Verneuil  and  come  back  through  Trois-Mares, 
but  as  soon  as  she  was  home  she  started  up  to  go  out 
again  as  if  she  had  forgotten  to  go  to  the  very  place 
to  which  she  had  meant  to  walk.  The  same  thing  hap- 
pened time  after  time  and  she  could  not  understand 
where  it  was  she  longed  to  go;  one  evening,  however, 
she  unconsciously  uttered  a  sentence  which  at  once  re- 


UNE  VIE  241 

vealed  to  her  the  secret  of  her  restlessness.  "  Oh!  how 
I  long  to  see  the  ocean,"  she  said  as  she  sat  down  to 
dinner. 

The  sea  !  That  was  what  she  missed.  The  sea  with 
its  salt  breezes,  its  never-ceasing  roar,  its  tempests,  its 
strong  odors ;  the  sea,  near  which  she  had  lived  for 
five  and  twenty  years,  which  had  always  felt  near  her 
and  which,  unconsciously,  she  had  come  to  love  like  a 
human  being. 

Massacre,  too,  was  very  uneasy.  The  very  evening 
of  his  arrival  at  the  new  house  he  had  installed  him- 
self under  the  kitchen-dresser  and  no  one  could  get  him 
to  move  out.  There  he  lay  all  day  long,  never  stirring, 
except  to  turn  himself  over  with  a  smothered  grunt, 
until  it  was  dark;  then  he  got  up  and  dragged  himself 
towards  the  garden  door,  grazing  himself  agaiast  the 
wall  as  he  went.  After  he  had  stayed  out  of  doors  a 
few  minutes  he  came  in  again  and  sat  down  before  the 
stove  which  was  still  warm,  and  as  soon  as  Jeanne  and 
Rosalie  had  gone  to  bed  he  began  to  'howl.  The 
■whole  night  long  he  howled,  in  a  pitiful,  deplorable 
way,  sometimes  ceasing  for  an  hour  only  to  recom- 
mence in  a  still  more  doleful  tone.  A  barrel  was  put 
outside  the  house  and  he  was  tied  up  to  it,  but  he 
howled  just  the  same  out  of  doors  as  in,  and  as  he  was 
old  and  almost  dying,  he  was  brought  back  to  the 
kitchen  again. 

It  was  impossible  for  Jeanne  to  sleep,  for  the  whole 
night  she  could  hear  the  old  dog  moaning  and  scratch- 
ing as  he  tried  to  get  used  to  this  new  house  whi>ch  he 
found  so  different  from  his  old  home.  Nothing  would 
quiet  him;  his  eyes  were  dim  and  It  seemed  as  if  the 

knowledge  of  his  infirmity  made  him  keep  still  while 
V— IG 


242  A  WOiMAN'S  LIFE 

everyone  else  was  awake  and  downstairs,  and  at  night 
he  wandered  restlessly  about  until  daybreak,  as  if  he 
only  dared  to  move  in  the  darkness  which  makes  all 
beings  sightless  for  the  time.  It  was  an  intense  relief 
to  everyone  when  one  morning  he  was  found  dead. 

Winter  wore  on,  and  Jeanne  gave  way  more  and 
more  to  an  insuperable  hopelessness;  it  was  no  longer 
a  keen,  heartrending  grief  that  she  felt,  but  a  dull, 
gloomy  melancholy.  There  was  nothing  to  rouse  her 
from  it,  no  one  came  to  see  her,  and  the  road  which 
passed  before  her  door  was  almost  deserted.  Some- 
times a  gig  passed  by  driven  by  a  red-faced  man  whose 
blouse,  blown  out  by  the  wind,  looked  like  a  blue 
balloon,  and  sometimes  a  cart  crawled  past,  or  a  peasant 
and  his  wife  could  be  seen  coming  from  the  distance, 
growing  larger  and  larger  as  they  approached  the 
house  and  then  diminishing  again  when  they  had  passed 
it,  till  they  looked  like  two  insects  at  the  end  of  the 
long  white  line  which  stretched  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  rising  and  falling  with  the  undulation  of  the 
earth.  When  the  grass  again  sprang  up  a  little  girl 
passed  the  gate  every  morning  with  two  thin  cows  which 
browsed  along  the  side  of  the  road,  and  in  the  evening 
she  returned,  taking,  as  in  the  morning,  one  step  every 
ten  minutes  as  she  followed  the  animals. 

Every  night  Jeanne  dreamt  that  she  was  again  at  Les 
Peuples.  She  thought  she  was  there  with  her  father 
and  mother  and  Aunt  Lison  as  in  the  old  times.  Again 
she  accomplished  the  old,  forgotten  duties  and  sup- 
ported Madame  Adelaide  as  she  walked  in  her  avenue; 
and  each  time  she  awoke  she  burst  into  tears. 

Paul  was  continually  in  her  thoughts  and  she  won- 
dered what  he  was  doing.  If  he  were  well  and  if  he 


UNE  VIE  243 

ever  thought  of  her.  She  revolved  all  these  painful 
thoughts  in  her  mind  as  she  walked  along  the  low-lying 
roads  between  the  farms,  and  what  was  more  torture 
to  her  than  anything  else  was  the  fierce  jealousy  of  the 
woman  who  had  deprived  her  of  her  son.  It  was  this 
hatred  alone  which  restrained  her  from  taking  any  steps 
towards  finding  Paul  and  trying  to  see  him.  She  could 
imagine  her  son's  mistress  confronting  her  at  the  door 
and  asking,  "What  is  your  business  here,  madame?" 
and  her  self-respect  would  not  permit  her  to  run  the 
risk  of  such  an  encounter.  In  the  haughty  pride  of  a 
chaste  and  spotless  woman,  who  had  never  stooped  to 
listen  to  temptation,  she  became  still  more  bitter  against 
the  base  and  cowardly  actions  to  which  sensual  love  will 
drive  a  man  who  is  not  strong  enough  to  throw  off  its 
degrading  chains.  The  whole  of  humanity  seemed  to 
her  unclean  as  she  thought  of  the  obscene  secrets  of  the 
senses,  of  the  caresses  which  debase  as  they  are  given 
and  received,  and  of  all  the  mysteries  which  surround 
the  attraction  of  the  sexes. 

Another  spring  and  summer  passed  away,  and  when 
the  autumn  came  again  with  its  rainy  days,  its  dull,  gray 
skies,  its  heavy  clouds,  Jeanne  felt  so  weary  of  the  life 
she  was  leading  that  she  determined  to  make  a  supreme 
attempt  to  regain  possession  of  her  Poulet.  Surely  the 
young  man's  passion  must  have  cooled  by  this  time,  and 
she  wrote  him  a  touching,  pitiful  letter: 

*'  My  Dear  Child  —  I  am  coming  to  entreat  you  to 
return  to  me.  Think  how  I  am  left,  lonely,  aged  and 
ill,  the  whole  year  with  only  a  servant.  I  am  living  now 
in  a  little  house  by  the  roadside  and  it  is  very  miserable 
for  me,  but  if  you  were  here  everything  would  seem 


244  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

different.  You  are  all  I  have  in  the  world,  and  I  have 
not  seen  you  for  seven  years.  You  will  never  know 
how  unhappy  I  have  been  and  how  my  every  thought 
was  centered  in  you.  You  were  my  life,  my  soul,  my 
only  hope,  my  only  love,  and  you  are  away  from  me, 
you  have  forsaken  me. 

"  Oh!  come  back,  my  darling  Poulet,  come  back,  and 
let  me  hold  you  in  my  arms  again ;  come  back  to  your 
old  mother  who  so  longs  to  see  you.  jeanne." 

A  few  days  later  came  the  following  reply : 

"  My  Dear  Mother  —  I  should  only  be  too  glad 
to  come  and  see  you,  but  I  have  not  a  penny;  send  me 
some  money  and  I  will  come.  I  had  myself  been  think- 
ing of  coming  to  speak  to  you  about  a  plan  which,  if 
carried  out,  would  permit  me  to  do  as  you  desire. 

"  I  shall  never  be  able  to  repay  the  disinterested 
affection  of  the  woman  who  has  shared  all  my  troubles, 
but  I  can  at  least  make  a  public  recognition  of  her  faith- 
ful love  and  devotion.  Her  behavior  Is  all  you  could 
desire ;  she  is  well-educated  and  well-read  and  you  can- 
not imagine  what  a  comfort  she  has  been  to  me.  I 
should  be  a  brute  If  I  did  not  make  her  some  recom- 
pense, and  I  ask  your  permission  to  marry  her.  Then 
we  could  all  live  together  In  your  new  house,  and  you 
would  forgive  my  follies.  I  am  convinced  that  you 
would  give  your  consent  at  once,  if  you  knew  her;  I 
assure  you  she  Is  very  lady-like  and  quiet,  and  I  know 
you  would  like  her.  As  for  me,  I  could  not  live  with- 
out her. 

"  I  shall  await  your  reply  with  every  Impatience,  dear 
mother.      We  both  send  you  much  love. —  Your  son, 

"  Vicomte  Paul  de  Lamare." 


UNE  VIE  245 

Jeanne  was  thunderstruck.  As  she  sat  with  the  letter 
on  her  knees,  she  could  see  so  plainly  through  the 
designs  of  this  woman  who  had  not  once  let  Paul  return 
to  his  friends,  but  had  always  kept  him  at  her  side  while 
she  patiently  waited  until  his  mother  should  give  in  and 
consent  to  anything  and  everything  in  the  irresistible 
desire  of  having  her  son  with  her  again;  and  it  was  with 
bitter  pain  that  she  thought  of  how  Paul  obstinately 
persisted  in  preferring  this  creature  to  herself.  "  He 
does  not  love  me,  he  does  not  love  me,"  she  murmured 
over  and  over  again. 

"  He  wants  to  marry  her  now,"  she  said,  when  Rosa- 
lie came  In. 

The  servant  started. 

"Oh!  madame,  you  surely  will  not  consent  to  it. 
M.  Paul  can't  bring  that  hussy  here." 

All  the  pride  in  Jeanne's  nature  rose  in  revolt  at  the 
thought,  and  though  she  was  bowed  down  with  grief, 
she  replied  decidedly: 

"  No,  Rosalie,  never.  But  since  he  won't  come  here 
I  will  go  to  him,  and  we  will  see  which  of  us  two  will 
have  the  greater  influence  over  him." 

She  wrote  to  Paul  at  once,  telling  him  that  she  was 
coming  to  Paris,  and  would  see  him  anywhere  but  at 
the  house  where  he  was  living  with  that  wretch.  Then 
while  she  awaited  his  reply,  she  began  to  make  all  her 
preparations  for  the  journey,  and  Rosalie  commenced 
to  pack  her  mistress's  linen  and  clothes  In  an  old  trunk. 

"  You  haven't  a  single  thing  to  put  on,"  exclaimed 
the  servant,  as  she  was  folding  up  an  old,  badly-made 
dress.  "  I  won't  have  you  go  with  such  clothes;  you'd 
be  a  disgrace  to  everyone,  and  the  Paris  ladles  would 
think  you  were  a  servant." 


246  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

Jeanne  let  her  have  her  own  way,  and  they  both  went 
to  Goderville  and  chose  some  green,  checked  stuff,  which 
they  left  with  the  dressmaker  to  be  made  up.  Then 
they  went  to  see  Me.  Roussel  the  lawyer,  who  went  to 
Paris  for  a  fortnight  every  year,  to  obtain  a  few  direc- 
tions, for  it  was  twenty-eight  years  since  Jeanne  had 
been  to  the  capital.  He  gave  them  a  great  deal  of 
advice  about  crossing  the  roads  and  the  way  to  avoid 
being  robbed,  saying  that  the  safest  plan  was  to  carry 
only  just  as  much  money  as  was  necessary  in  the  pockets 
and  to  sew  the  rest  in  the  lining  of  the  dress;  then  he 
talked  for  a  long  time  about  the  restaurants  where  the 
charges  were  moderate,  and  mentioned  two  or  three  to 
which  ladies  could  go,  and  he  recommended  Jeanne  to 
stay  at  the  Hotel  de  Normandie,  which  was  near  the 
railway  station.  He  always  stayed  there  himself,  and 
she  could  say  he  had  sent  her.  There  had  been  a 
railway  between  Paris  and  Havre  for  the  last  six  years, 
but  Jeanne  had  never  seen  one  of  these  steam-engines  of 
which  everyone  was  talking,  and  which  were  revolution- 
izing the  whole  country. 

The  day  passed  on,  but  still  there  came  no  answer 
from  Paul.  Every  morning,  for  a  fortnight,  Jeanne 
had  gone  along  the  road  to  meet  the  postman,  and  had 
asked,  in  a  voice  which  she  could  not  keep  steady: 

"  You  have  nothing  for  me  to-day,  Pere  Malan- 
dain?  "  And  the  answer  was  always  the  same:  "  No 
nothing  yet,  ma  honne  dame^ 

Fully  persuaded  that  it  was  that  woman  w-ho  was 
preventing  Paul  from  answering,  Jeanne  determined 
not  to  wait  any  longer,  but  to  start  at  once.  She  wanted 
to  take  Rosalie  with  her,  but  the  maid  would  not  go 


UNE  VIE  247 

because  of  Increasing  the  expense  of  the  journey,  and 
she  only  allowed  her  mistress  to  take  three  hundred 
francs  with  her. 

"  If  you  want  any  more  money,"  she  said,  "  write  to 
me,  and  I'll  tell  the  lawyer  to  forward  you  some;  but 
if  I  give  you  any  more  now,  Monsieur  Paul  w^ill  hav^e  it 
all." 

Then  one  December  morning,  Denis  Lecoq's  gig 
came  to  take  them  both  to  the  railway  station,  for  Rosa- 
lie w^as  going  to  accompany  her  mistress  as  far  as  that. 
When  they  reached  the  station,  they  found  out  first  how 
much  the  tickets  were,  then,  when  the  trunk  had  been 
labeled  and  the  ticket  bought,  they  stood  watching  the 
rails,  both  too  much  occupied  in  wondering  what  the 
train  would  be  like  to  think  of  the  sad  cause  of  this 
journey.  At  last  a  distant  whistle  made  them  look 
round,  and  they  saw  a  large,  black  machine  approach- 
ing, which  came  up  with  a  terrible  noise,  dragging  after 
it  a  long  chain  of  little  rolling  houses.  A  porter 
opened  the  door  of  one  of  these  little  huts,  and  Jeanne 
kissed  Rosalie  and  got  in. 

"  An  revoir,  madame.  I  hope  you  will  have  a  pleas- 
ant journey,  and  will  soon  be  back  again." 

"  Jii  revoir,  Rosalie." 

There  was  another  whistle,  and  the  string  of  car- 
riages moved  slowly  off,  gradually  going  faster  and 
faster,  till  they  reached  a  terrific  speed.  In  Jeanne's 
compartment  there  were  only  two  other  passengers,  who 
were  both  asleep,  and  she  sat  and  watched  the  fields  and 
farms  and  villages  rush  past.  She  was  frightened  at 
the  speed  at  which  she  was  going,  and  the  feeling  came 
over  her  that  she  was  entering  a  new  phase  of  life,  and 


248  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

was  being  hurried  towards  a  very  different  world  from 
that  in  which  she  had  spent  her  peaceful  girlhood  and 
her  monotonous  life. 

It  was  evening  when  she  reached  Paris.  A  porter 
took  her  trunk,  and  she  followed  closely  at  his  heels, 
sometimes  almost  running  for  fear  of  losing  sight  of 
him,  and  feeling  frightened  as  she  was  pushed  about  by 
the  swaying  crowd  through  which  she  did  not  know 
how  to  pass. 

"  I  was  recommended  here  by  Me.  Roussel,"  she 
hastened  to  say  when  she  was  in  the  hotel  office. 

The  landlady,  a  big,  stolid-looking  woman,  was  sit- 
ting at  the  desk. 

"  Who  is  Me.  Roussel?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  lawyer  from  Goderville,  who  stays  here  every 
year,"  replied  Jeanne,  in  surprise. 

"  Very  likely  he  does,"  responded  the  big  woman, 
"  but  I  don't  know  him.      Do  you  want  a  room?  " 

"  Yes,  madame." 

A  waiter  shouldered  the  luggage  and  led  the  way 
upstairs. 

Jeanne  followed,  feeling  very  low-spirited  and  de- 
pressed, and  sitting  down  at  a  little  table,  she  ordered 
some  soup  and  the  wing  of  a  chicken  to  be  sent  up  to 
her,  for  she  had  had  nothing  to  eat  since  day-break. 
She  thought  of  how  she  had  passed  through  this  same 
town  on  her  return  from  her  wedding  tour,  as  she  ate 
her  supper  by  the  miserable  light  of  one  candle,  and 
of  how  Julien  had  then  first  shown  himself  in  his  true 
character.  But  then  she  was  young  and  brave  and 
hopeful;  now  she  felt  old  and  timid;  and  the  least 
thing  worried  and  frightened  her. 

When  she  had  finished  her  supper,  she  went  to  the 


UNE  VIE  249 

window  and  watched  the  crowded  street.  She  would 
have  hked  to  go  out  If  she  had  dared,  but  she  thought 
she  should  be  sure  to  lose  herself,  so  she  went  to  bed. 
But  she  had  hardly  yet  got  over  the  bustle  of  the  jour- 
ney, and  that,  and  the  noise  and  the  sensation  of  being 
in  a  strange  place,  kept  her  awake.  The  hours  passed 
on,  and  the  noises  outside  gradually  ceased,  but  still  she 
could  not  sleep,  for  she  was  accustomed  to  the  sound, 
peaceful  sleep  of  the  country,  which  is  so  different  from 
the  semi-repose  of  a  great  city.  Here  she  was  conscious 
of  a  sort  of  restlessness  all  around  her;  the  murmur  of 
voices  reached  her  ears,  and  every  now  and  then  a  board 
creaked,  a  door  shut,  or  a  bell  rang.  She  was  just  doz- 
ing oft,  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  a 
woman  suddenly  began  to '  scream  in  a  neighboring 
room.  Jeanne  started  up  in  bed,  and  next  she  thought 
she  heard  a  man  laughing.  As  dawn  approached  she 
became  more  and  more  anxious  to  see  Paul,  and  as  soon 
as  it  was  light,  she  got  up  and  dressed. 

He  lived  in  the  Rue  du  Sauvage,  and  she  meant  to 
follow  Rosalie's  advice  about  spending  as  little  as  possi- 
ble, and  walk  there.  It  was  a  fine  day,  though  the 
wind  was  keen,  and  there  were  a  great  many  people  hur- 
rying along  the  pavements.  Jeanne  walked  along  the 
street  as  quickly  as  she  could.  When  she  reached  the 
other  end,  she  was  to  turn  to  the  right,  then  to  the  left; 
then  she  would  come  to  a  square,  where  she  was  to  ask 
again.  She  could  not  find  the  square,  and  a  baker  from 
whom  she  inquired  the  way  gave  her  different  directions 
altogether.  She  started  on  again,  missed  the  way,  wan- 
dered about,  and  in  trying  to  follow  other  directions, 
lost  herself  entirely.  She  walked  on  and  on,  and  was 
just  going  to  hail  a  cab  when  she  saw  the  Seine.     Then 


250  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

she  decided  to  walk  along  the  quays,  and  in  about  an 
hour  she  reached  the  dark,  dirty  lane  called  Rue  du 
Sauvage. 

When  she  came  to  the  number  she  was  seeking,  she 
was  so  excited  that  she  stood  before  the  door  unable 
to  move  another  step.  Poulet  was  there,  in  that  house ! 
Her  hands  and  knees  trembled  violently,  and  it  was 
some  moments  before  she  could  enter  and  walk  along 
the  passage  to  the  doorkeeper's  box. 

"  Will  you  go  and  tell  M.  Paul  de  Lamare  that  an 
old  lady  friend  of  his  mother's,  is  waiting  to  see  him?  " 
she  said,  slipping  a  piece  of  money  into  the  man's  hand. 

"  He  does  not  live  here  now,  madame,"  answered 
the  doorkeeper. 

She  started. 

"Ah!  Where  —  where  is  he  living  now?"  she 
gasped. 

"  I  do  not  know." 

She  felt  stunned,  and  it  was  some  time  before  she 
could  speak  again. 

"  When  did  he  leave?  "  she  asked  at  last,  controlling 
herself  by  a  violent  effort. 

The  man  was  quite  ready  to  tell  her  all  he  knew. 

"  About  a  fortnight  ago,"  he  replied.  "They  just 
walked  out  of  the  house  one  evening  and  didn't  come 
back.  They  owed  all  over  the  neighborhood,  so  you 
may  guess  they  didn't  leave  any  address." 

Tongues  of  flame  were  dancing  before  Jeanne's  eyes, 
as  if  a  gun  were  being  fired  off  close  to  her  face;  but 
she  wanted  to  find  Poulet,  and  that  kept  her  up  and 
made  her  stand  opposite  the  doorkeeper,  as  if  she  were 
calmly  thinking. 

"  Then  he  did  not  say  anything  when  he  left?  " 


UNE  VIE  251 

"No,  nothing  at  all;  they  went  away  to  get  out  of 
paying  their  debts. 

"  But  he  will  have  to  send  for  his  letters." 

"  He'll  send  a  good  many  times  before  he  gets  them, 
then;  besides,  they  didn't  have  ten  in  a  twelvemonth, 
though  I  took  them  up  one  two  days  before  they  left." 

That  must  have  been  the  one  she  sent. 

"  Listen,"  she  said,  hastily.  "  I  am  his  mother,  and 
I  have  come  to  look  for  him.  Here  are  ten  francs  for 
yourself.  If  you  hear  anything  from  or  about  him,  let 
me  know  at  once  at  the  Hotel  de  Normandie,  Rue  du 
Havre,  and  you  shall  be  well  paid  for  your  trouble." 

"  You  may  depend  upon  me,  madame,"  answered  the 
doorkeeper ;  and  Jeanne  went  away. 

She  hastened  along  the  streets  as  if  she  were  bent  on 
an  important  mission,  but  she  was  not  looking  or  caring 
whither  she  was  going.  She  walked  close  to  the  walls, 
pushed  and  buffeted  by  errand  boys  and  porters;  crossed 
the  roads,  regardless  of  the  vehicles  and  the  shouts  of 
the  drivers ;  stumbled  against  the  curbstones,  which  she 
did  not  see;  and  hurried  on  and  on,  unconscious  of 
everything  and  everyone.  At  last  she  found  herself  In 
some  gardens,  and,  feeling  too  weary  to  walk  any  fur- 
ther, she  dropped  on  a  seat.  She  sat  there  a  long  while, 
apparently  unaware  that  the  tears  were  running  down 
her  cheeks,  and  that  passersby  stopped  to  look  at  her. 
At  last  the  bitter  cold  made  her  rise  to  go,  but  her  legs 
would  hardly  carry  her,  so  weak  and  exhausted  was  she. 
She  would  have  liked  some  soup,  but  she  dared  not  go 
into  a  restaurant,  for  she  knew  people  could  see  she 
was  in  trouble,  and  it  made  her  feel  timid  and  ashamed. 
When  she  passed  an  eating-place  she  would  stop  a  mo- 
ment at  the  door,  look  Inside,  and  see  all  the  people 


252  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

sitting  at  the  tables  eating,  and  then  go  on  again,  saying 
to  herself:  "  I  will  go  into  the  next  one  ";  but  when 
she  came  to  the  next  her  courage  always  failed  her 
again.  In  the  end  she  went  into  a  baker's  shop,  and 
bought  a  little  crescent-shaped  roll,  which  she  ate  as  she 
went  along.  She  was  very  thirsty,  but  she  did  not  know 
where  to  go  to  get  anything  to  drink,  so  she  went  with- 
out. 

She  passed  under  an  arch,  and  found  herself  in  some 
more  gardens  with  arcades  running  all  round  them,  and 
she  recognized  the  Palais  Royal.  Her  walk  in  the  sun 
had  made  her  warm  again,  so  she  sat  down  for  another 
hour  or  two.  A  crowd  of  people  flowed  into  the  gar- 
dens —  an  elegant  crowd  composed  of  beautiful  women 
and  wealthy  men,  who  only  lived  for  dress  and  pleasure, 
and  who  chatted  and  smiled  and  bowed  as  they  saun- 
tered along.  Feeling  ill  at  ease  amidst  this  brilliant 
throng,  Jeanne  rose  to  go  away;  but  suddenly  the 
thought  struck  her  that  perhaps  she  might  meet  Paul 
here,  and  she  began  to  walk  from  end  to  end  of  the  gar- 
dens, with  hasty,  furtive  steps,  carefully  scanning  every 
face  she  met. 

Soon  she  saw  that  people  turned  to  look  and  laugh  at 
her,  and  she  hurried  away,  thinking  it  was  her  odd  ap- 
pearance and  her  green-checked  dress,  which  Rosalie  had 
chosen  and  had  made  up,  that  attracted  everyone's  at- 
tention and  smiles.  She  hardly  dared  ask  her  way,  but 
she  did  at  last  venture,  and  when  she  had  reached  her 
hotel,  she  passed  the  rest  of  the  day  sitting  on  a  chair 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  In  the  evening  she  dined  off 
some  soup  and  a  little  meat,  like  the  day  before,  and 
then  undressed  and  went  to  bed,  performing  all  the 
duties  of  her  toilet  quite  mechanically,  from  sheer  habit. 


UNE  VIE  253 

The  next  morning  she  went  to  the  police  office  to  see 
if  she  could  get  any  help  there  towards  the  discovery 
of  her  son's  whereabouts.  They  told  her  they  could 
not  promise  her  anything,  but  that  they  would  attend 
to  the  matter.  After  she  had  left  the  police  office,  she 
wandered  about  the  streets,  in  the  hopes  of  meeting  her 
child,  and  she  felt  more  friendless  and  forsaken  among 
the  busy  crowds  than  she  did  in  the  midst  of  the  lovely 
fields. 

When  she  returned  to  the  hotel  in  the  evening,  she 
was  told  that  a  man  from  M.  Paul  had  asked  for  her, 
and  was  coming  again  the  next  day.  All  the  blood  in 
her  body  seemed  to  suddenly  rush  to  her  heart  and  she 
could  not  close  her  eyes  all  night.  Perhaps  it  was  Paul 
himself !  Yes,  it  must  be  so,  although  his  appearance 
did  not  tally  with  the  description  the  hotel  people  had 
given  of  the  man  who  had  called,  and  when,  about  nine 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  there  came  a  knock  at  her  door, 
she  cried,  "  Come  in !  "  expecting  her  son  to  rush  into 
her  arms  held  open  to  receive  him. 

But  it  was  a  stranger  who  entered  —  a  stranger  who 
began  to  apologize  for  disturbing  her  and  to  explain 
that  he  had  come  about  some  money  Paul  owed  him. 
As  he  spoke  she  felt  herself  beginning  to  cry,  and  she 
tried  to  hide  her  tears  from  the  man  by  wiping  them 
away  with  the  end  of  her  finger  as  soon  as  they  reached 
the  corners  of  her  eyes.  The  man  had  heard  of  her 
arrival  from  the  concierge  at  the  Rue  du  Sauvage,  and 
as  he  could  not  find  Paul  he  had  come  to  his  mother. 
He  held  out  a  paper  which  Jeanne  mechanically  took; 
she  saw  "  90  francs  "  written  on  it,  and  she  drew  out 
the  money  and  paid  the  man.  She  did  not  go  out  at  all 
that  day,  and  the  next  morning  more  creditors  appeared. 


254  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

She  gave  them  all  the  money  she  had  left,  except  twenty 
francs,  and  wrote  and  told  Rosalie  how  she  was  placed. 

Until  her  servant's  answer  came  she  passed  the  days 
In  wandering  aimlessly  about  the  streets.  She  did  not 
know  what  to  do  or  how  to  kill  the  long,  miserable 
hours;  there  was  no  one  who  knew  of  her  troubles,  or 
to  whom  she  could  go  for  sympathy,  and  her  one  desire 
was  to  get  away  from  this  city  and  to  return  to  her  little 
house  beside  the  lonely  road,  where,  a  few  days  before, 
she  had  felt  she  could  not  bear  to  live  because  it  was  so 
dull  and  lonely.  Now  she  was  sure  she  could  live  no- 
where else  but  in  that  little  home  where  all  her  mourn- 
ful habits  had  taken  root. 

At  last,  one  evening,  she  found  a  letter  from  Rosalie 
awaiting  her  with  two  hundred  francs  enclosed. 

"  Come  back  as  soon  as  possible,  Madame  Jeanne," 
wrote  the  maid,  "  for  I  shall  send  you  nothing  more. 
As  for  M.  Paul,  I  will  go  and  fetch  him  myself  the  next 
time  we  hear  anything  from  him. — With  best  respects, 
your  servant,  Rosalie." 

And  Jeanne  started  back  to  Batteville  one  bitterly 
cold,  snowy  morning. 

XIV 

After  her  return  from  Paris,  Jeanne  would  not 
go  out  or  take  any  interest  in  anything.  She  rose  at 
the  same  hour  every  morning,  looked  out  of  the 
window  to  see  what  sort  of  day  it  was,  then  went 
downstairs  and  sat  before  the  fire  in  the  dining-room. 
She    stayed    there    the    whole    day,    sitting    perfectly 


UNE  VIE  255 

still  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  flames  while  she  thought 
of  all  the  sorrows  she  had  passed  through.  The  little 
room  grew  darker  and  darker,  but  she  never  moved,  ex- 
cept to  put  more  wood  on  the  fire,  and  when  Rosalie 
brought  in  the  lamp  she  cried; 

"  Come,  Madame  Jeanne,  you  must  stir  about  a  bit, 
or  you  won't  be  able  to  eat  any  dinner  again  this  even- 
ing," 

Often  she  was  worried  by  thoughts  which  she  could 
not  dismiss  from  her  mind,  and  she  allowed  herself  to 
be  tormented  by  the  veriest  trifles,  for  the  most  insignifi- 
cant matters  appeared  of  the  greatest  importance  to  her 
diseased  mind.  She  lived  in  the  memories  of  the  past, 
and  she  would  think  for  hours  together  of  her  girlhood 
and  her  wedding  tour  in  Corsica.  The  wild  scenery 
that  she  had  long  forgotten  suddenly  appeared  before 
her  in  the  fire,  and  she  could  recall  every  detail,  every 
event,  everv  face  connected  with  the  island.  She  could 
always  see  the  features  of  Jean  Ravoli,  the  guide,,  and 
sometimes  she  fancied  she  could  even  hear  his  voice. 

At  other  times  she  thought  of  the  peaceful  years  of 
Paul's  childhood  —  of  how  he  used  to  make  her  tend 
the  salad  plants,  and  of  how  she  and  Aunt  Lison  used 
to  kneel  on  the  ground,  each  trying  to  outdo  the  other 
in  giving  pleasure  to  the  boy,  and  in  rearing  the  greater 
number  of  plants. 

Her  lips  would  form  the  words,  "  Poulet,  my  little 
Poulet,"  as  if  she  were  talking  to  him,  and  she  would 
cease  to  muse,  and  try  for  hours  to  write  in  the  air  the 
letters  which  formed  her  son's  name,  with  her  out- 
stretched finger.  Slowly  she  traced  them  before  the 
fire,  fancying  she  could  see  them,  and,  thinking  she  had 
made  a  mistake,   she  began  the  word  over  and  over 


256  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

again,  forcing  herself  to  write  the  whole  name  though 
her  arm  trembled  with  fatigue.  At  last  she  would  be- 
come so  nervous  that  she  mixed  up  the  letters,  and 
formed  other  words,  and  had  to  give  it  up. 

She  had  all  the  manias  and  fancies  which  beset  those 
who  lead  a  solitary  life,  and  It  Irritated  her  to  the  last 
degree  to  see  the  slightest  change  in  the  arrangement 
of  the  furniture.  Rosalie  often  made  her  go  out  with 
her  along  the  road,  but  after  twenty  minutes  or  so 
Jeanne  would  say:  "  I  cannot  walk  any  further,  Rosa- 
lie," and  would  sit  down  by  the  roadside.  Soon  move- 
ment of  any  kind  became  distasteful  to  her,  and  she 
stayed  in  bed  as  late  as  she  could.  Ever  since  a  child 
she  had  always  been  In  the  habit  of  jumping  out  of  bed 
as  soon  as  she  had  drunk  her  cafe  an  lait.  She  was 
particularly  fond  of  her  morning  coffee,  and  she  would 
have  missed  It  more  than  anything.  She  always  waited 
for  Rosalie  to  bring  it  with  an  Impatience  that  had  a 
touch  of  sensuality  In  It,  and  as  soon  as  the  cup  was 
placed  on  the  bedside  table  she  sat  up,  and  emptied  It, 
somewhat  greedily.  Then  she  at  once  drew  back  the 
bedclothes  and  began  to  dress.  But  gradually  she  fell 
Into  the  habit  of  dreaming  for  a  few  moments  after  she 
had  placed  the  empty  cup  back  in  the  saucer,  and  from 
that  she  soon  began  to  lie  down  again,  and  at  last  she 
stayed  In  bed  every  day  until  Rosalie  came  back  In  a 
temper  and  dressed  her  almost  by  force. 

She  had  no  longer  the  slightest  will  of  her  own. 
Whenever  her  servant  asked  her  advice,  or  put  any  ques- 
tion to  her,  or  wanted  to  know  her  opinion,  she  always 
answered:  "  Do  as  you  like,  Rosalie."  So  firmly  did 
she  believe  herself  pursued  by  a  persistent  ill  luck  that 
she  became  as  great  a  fatalist  as  an  Oriental,  and  she 


UNE  VIE  257 

was  so  accustomed  to  seeing  her  dreams  unfulfilled,  and 
her  hopes  disappointed,  that  she  did  not  dare  undertake 
anything  fresh,  and  hesitated  for  days  before  she  com,-- 
menced  the  simplest  task,  so  persuaded  was  she  that 
whatever  she  touched  would  be  sure  to  go  wrong. 

"  I  don't  think  anyone  could  have  had  more  misfor- 
tune than  I  have  had  all  my  life,"  she  was  always  say- 
ing. 

"  How  would  it  be  if  you  had  to  work  for  your  bread, 
and  if  you  were  obliged  to  get  up  every  morning  at  six 
o'clock  to  go  and  do  a  hard  day's  work?  "  Rosalie 
would  exclaim.  "  That's  what  a  great  many  people 
have  to  do,  and  then  when  they  get  too  old  to  work,  they 
die  of  want." 

"  But  my  son  has  forsaken  me,  and  I  am  all  alone," 
Jeanne  would  reply. 

That  enraged  Rosalie. 

"And  what  if  he  has?  How  about  those  whose 
children  enlist,  or  settle  in  America?"  (America,  In. 
her  eyes,  was  a  shadowy  country  whither  people  went 
to  make  their  fortune,  and  whence  they  never  returned) . 
"  Children  always  leave  their  parents  sooner  or  later; 
old  and  young  people  aren't  meant  to  stay  together. 
And  then,  what  if  he  were  dead?  "  she  would  finish  up 
with  savagely,  and  her  mistress  could  say  nothing  after 
that. 

Jeanne  got  a  little  stronger  when  the  first  warm  days 
of  spring  came,  but  she  only  took  advantage  of  her  bet- 
ter health  to  bury  herself  still  deeper  in  her  gloomy 
thoughts. 

She  went  up  to  the  garret  one  morning  to  look  for 
something,  and,  while  she  was  there,  happened  to  open 

a  box  full  of  old  almanacs.     It  seemed  as  If  she  had 

V— 17 


258  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

found  the  past  years  themselves,  and  she  was  filled  with 
emotion  as  she  looked  at  the  pile  of  cards.  They  were 
of  all  sizes,  big  and  little,  and  she  took  them  every  one 
down  to  the  dining-room  and  began  to  lay  them  out  on 
the  table  in  the  right  order  of  years.  Suddenly  she 
picked  up  the  very  first  one  —  the  one  she  had  taken 
with  her  from  the  convent  to  Les  Peuples.  For  a  long 
time  she  gazed  at  It  with  its  dates  which  she  had  crossed 
out  the  day  she  had  left  Rouen,  and  she  began  to  shed 
slow,  bitter  tears  —  the  weak,  pitiful  tears  of  an  aged 
woman  —  as  she  looked  at  these  cards  spread  out  be- 
fore her  on  the  table,  and  which  represented  all  her 
wretched  life. 

Then  the  thought  struck  her  that  by  means  of  these 
almanacs  she  could  recall  all  that  she  had  ever  done, 
and  giving  way  to  the  idea,  she  at  once  devoted  herself 
to  the  task  of  retracing  the  past.  She  pinned  all  the 
cards,  which  had  grown  yellow  with  age,  up  on  the  tap- 
estry, and  then  passed  hours  before  one  or  other  of 
them,  thinking,  "  What  did  I  do  in  that  month?  " 

She  had  put  a  mark  beside  all  the  important  dates  In 
her  life,  and  sometimes,  by  means  of  linking  together 
and  adding  one  to  the  other,  all  the  little  circumstances 
which  had  preceded  and  followed  a  great  event,  she  suc- 
ceeded in  remembering  a  whole  month.  By  dint  of 
concentrated  attention,  and  efforts  of  will  and  of  mem- 
ory, she  retraced  nearly  the  whole  of  her  first  two  years 
at  Les  Peuples,  recalling  without  much  dlfl^culty  this 
far-away  period  of  her  life,  for  it  seemed  to  stand  out 
in  relief.  But  the  following  years  were  shrouded  in  a 
sort  of  mist  and  seemed  to  run  one  Into  the  other,  and 
sometimes  she  pored  over  an  almanac  for  hours  without 
being  able  to  remember  whether  It  was  even  In  that 


UNE  VIE  259 

year  that  such  and  such  a  thhig  had  happened.  She 
would  go  slowly  round  the  dining-room  lookhig  at  these 
images  of  past  years,  which,  to  her,  were  as  pictures 
of  an  ascent  to  Calvary,  until  one  of  them  arrested  her 
attention  and  then  she  would  sit  gazing  at  it  all  the  rest 
of  the  day,  absorbed  in  her  recollections. 

Soon  the  sap  began  to  rise  in  the  trees;  the  seeds  were 
springing  up,  the  leaves  were  budding  and  the  air  was 
filled  with  the  faint,  sweet  smell  of  the  apple  blossoms 
which  made  the  orchards  a  glowing  mass  of  pink.  As 
summer  approached  Jeanne  became  very  restless.  She 
could  not  keep  still;  she  went  in  and  out  twenty  times  a 
day,  and,  as  she  rambled  along  past  the  farms,  she 
worked  herself  into  a  perfect  state  of  fever. 

A  daisy  half  hidden  In  the  grass,  a  sunbeam  falling 
through  the  leaves,  or  the  reflection  of  the  sky  in  a 
splash  of  w^ater  in  a  rut  was  enough  to  agitate  and  affect 
her,  for  their  sight  brought  back  a  kind  of  echo  of  the 
emotions  she  had  felt  when,  as  a  young  girl,  she  had 
wandered  dreamily  through  the  fields;  and  though  now 
there  was  nothing  to  which  she  could  look  forward,  the 
soft  yet  exhilarating  air  sent  the  same  thrill  through  her 
as  when  all  her  life  had  lain  before  her.  But  this  pleas- 
ure was  not  unalloyed  with  pain,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the 
universal  joy  of  the  awakening  world  could  now  only 
impart  a  delight  which  was  half  sorrow  to  her  grief- 
crushed  soul  and  withered  heart.  Everything  around 
her  seemed  to  have  changed.  Surely  the  sun  was  hardly 
so  warm  as  in  her  youth,  the  sky  so  deep  a  blue,  the 
grass  so  fresh  a  green,  and  the  flowers,  paler  and  less 
sweet,  could  no  longer  arouse  within  her  the  exquisite 
ecstasies  of  delight  as  of  old.  Still  she  could  enjoy  the 
beauty  around  her,  so  much  that  sometimes  she  found 


26o  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

herself  dreaming  and  hoping  again;  for,  however  cruel 
Fate  may  be,  is  It  possible  to  give  way  to  utter  despair 
when  the  sun  shines  and  the  slcy  is  blue? 

She  went  for  long  walks,  urged  on  and  on  by  her 
inward  excitement,  and  sometimes  she  would  suddenly 
stop  and  sit  down  by  the  roadside  to  think  of  her  trou- 
bles. Why  had  she  not  been  loved  like  other  women? 
Why  had  even  the  simple  pleasure  of  an  uneventful 
existence  been  refused  her? 

Sometimes,  again  forgetting  for  a  moment  that  she 
was  old,  that  there  was  no  longer  any  pleasure  in  store 
for  her,  and  that,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  more 
lonely  years,  her  life  was  over  and  done,  she  would  build 
all  sorts  of  castles  in  the  air  and  make  plans  for  such  a 
happy  future,  just  as  she  had  done  when  she  was  sixteen. 
Then  suddenly  remembering  the  bitter  reality  she  would 
get  up  again,  feeling  as  if  a  heavy  load  had  fallen  upon 
her,  and  return  home,  murmuring: 

"  Oh,  you  old  fool !     You  old  fool !  " 

Now  Rosalie  was  always  saying  to  her : 

"  Do  keep  still,  madame.  What  on  earth  makes  you 
want  to  run  about  so?  " 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  Jeanne  would  reply  sadly.  "  I  am 
like  Massacre  was  before  he  died." 

One  morning  Rosalie  went  into  her  mistress's  room 
'?arlier  than  usual. 

"  Make  haste  and  drink  up  your  coffee,"  she  said  as 
she  placed  the  cup  on  the  table.  "  Denis  is  waiting  to 
take  us  to  Les  Peuples.  I  have  to  go  over  there  on 
business." 

Jeanne  was  so  excited  that  she  thought  she  would 
have  fainted,  and,  as  she  dressed  herself  with  trembling 


UNE  VIE  261 

fingers,  she  could  hardly  believe  she  was  going  to  see 
her  dear  home  once  more. 

Overhead  was  a  bright,  blue  sky,  and,  as  tney  went 
along,  Denis's  pony  would  every  now  and  then  break 
into  a  gallop.  When  they  reached  Etouvent,  Jeanne 
could  hardly  breathe,  her  heart  beat  so  quickly,  and 
when  she  saw  the  brick  pillars  beside  the  chateau  gate, 
she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,"  two  or  three  times  in  a  low  voice, 
as  if  she  were  in  the  presence  of  something  which  stirred 
her  very  soul,  and  she  could  not  help  herself. 

They  put  up  the  horse  at  the  Couillards'  farm,  and, 
when  Rosalie  and  her  son  went  to  attend  to  their  busi- 
ness, the  farmer  asked  Jeanne  if  she  would  like  to  go 
over  the  chateau,  as  the  owner  was  away,  and  gave  her 
the  key. 

She  went  off  alone,  and  when  she  found  herself  oppo- 
site the  old  manor  she  stood  still  to  look  at  it.  The 
outside  had  not  been  touched  since  she  had  left.  All 
the  shutters  were  closed,  and  the  sunbeams  were  danc- 
ing on  the  gray  walls  of  the  big,  weather-beaten  build- 
ing. A  little  piece  of  wood  fell  on  her  dress,  she  looked 
up  and  saw  that  it  had  fallen  from  the  plane  tree,  and 
she  went  up  to  the  big  tree  and  stroked  its  pale,  smooth 
bark  as  if  it  had  been  alive.  Her  foot  touched  a  piece 
of  rotten  wood  lying  in  the  grass;  it  was  the  last  frag- 
ment of  the  seat  on  which  she  had  so  often  sat  with  her 
loved  ones  —  the  seat  which  had  been  put  up  the  very 
day  of  Julien's  first  visit  to  the  chateau. 

Then  she  went  to  the  hall-door.  She  had  some  dif- 
ficulty in  opening  it  as  the  key  was  rusty  and  would  not 
turn,  but  at  last  the  lock  gave  way,  and  the  door  itself 
only  required  a  slight  push  before  it  swung  back.     The 


262  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

first  thing  Jeanne  did  was  to  run  up  to  her  own  room. 
It  had  been  hung  with  a  light  paper  and  she  hardly 
knew  it  again,  but  when  she  opened  one  of  the  windows 
and  looked  out,  she  was  moved  almost  to  tears  as  she 
saw  again  the  scene  she  loved  so  well  —  the  thicket,  the 
elms,  the  common,  and  the  sea  covered  with  brown  sails 
which,  at  this  distance,  looked  as  if  they  were  motionless. 

Then  she  went  all  over  the  big,  empty  house.  She 
stopped  to  look  at  a  little  hole  in  the  plaster  which  the 
baron  had  made  with  his  cane,  for  he  used  to  make  a 
few  thrusts  at  the  wall  whenever  he  passed  this  spot,  in 
memory  of  the  fencing  bouts  he  had  had  in  his  youth. 
In  her  mother's  bedroom  she  found  a  small  gold-headed 
pin  stuck  In  the  wall  behind  the  door,  in  a  dark  corner 
near  the  bed.  She  had  stuck  it  there  a  long  while  ago 
(she  remembered  it  now),  and  had  looked  everywhere 
for  it  since,  but  it  had  never  been  found;  and  she  kissed 
It  and  took  it  with  her  as  a  priceless  relic. 

She  went  into  every  room,  recognizing  the  almost  in- 
visible spots  and  marks  on  the  hangings  which  had  not 
been  changed  and  again  noting  the  odd  forms  and  faces 
which  the  imagination  so  often  traces  in  the  designs  of 
the  furniture  coverings,  the  carvings  of  mantelpieces 
and  the  shadows  on  soiled  ceilings.  She  walked 
through  the  vast,  silent  chateau  as  noiselessly  as  if  she 
were  In  a  cemetery;  all  her  life  was  interred  there. 

She  went  down  to  the  drawing-room.  The  closed 
shutters  made  It  very  dark,  and  It  was  a  few  moments 
before  she  could  distinguish  anything;  then,  as  her  eyes 
became  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  she  gradually  made 
out  the  tapestry  with  the  big,  white  birds  on  It.  Two 
armchairs  stood  before  the  fireplace,  looking  as  if  they 
had  just  been  vacated,  and  the  very  smell  of  the  room  — 


UNE  yiE  263 

a  smell  that  had  always  been  peculiar  to  it,  as  each  hu- 
man being  has  his,  a  smell  which  could  be  perceived  at 
once,  and  yet  was  vague  like  all  the  faint  perfumes 
of  old  rooms  —  brought  the  memories  crowding  to 
Jeanne's  mind. 

Her  breath  came  quickly  us  she  stood  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  two  chairs,  inhaling  this  perfume  of  the 
past;  and,  all  at  once,  in  a  sudden  hallucination  occa- 
sioned by  her  thoughts,  she  fancied  she  saw  —  she  did 
see  —  her  father  and  mother  with  their  feet  on  the 
fender  as  she  had  so  often  seen  them  before.  She  drew 
back  in  terror,  stumbling  against  the  door-frame,  and 
clung  to  it  for  support,  still  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  armchairs.  The  vision  disappeared  and  for  some 
minutes  she  stood  horror-stricken ;  then  she  slowly  re- 
gained possession  of  herself  and  turned  to  fly,  afraid 
that  she  was  going  mad.  Her  eyes  fell  on  the  wain- 
scoting against  which  she  was  leaning  and  she  saw 
Poulet's  ladder.  There  were  all  the  faint  marks  traced 
on  the  wall  at  unequal  Intervals  and  the  figures  which 
had  been  cut  with  a  penknife  to  Indicate  the  month,  and 
the  child's  age  and  growth.  In  some  places  there  was 
the  baron's  big  writing,  in  others  her  own,  in  others 
again  Aunt  Lison's,  which  was  a  little  shaky.  She  could 
see  the  boy  standing  there  now,  with  his  fair  hair,  and 
his  little  forehead  pressed  against  the  wall  to  have  his 
height  measured,  while  the  baron  exclaimed :  "  Jeanne, 
he  has  grown  half  an  Inch  In  six  weeks,"  and  she  began 
to  kiss  the  wainscoting  In  a  frenzy  of  love  for  the  very 
wood. 

Then  she  heard  Rosalie's  voice  outside,  calling: 
"Madame  Jeanne!  Madame  Jeanne!  lunch  is  wait- 
ing," and  she  went  out  with  her  head  In  a  whirl.     She 


264  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

felt  unable  to  understand  anything  that  was  said  to  her. 
She  ate  what  was  placed  before  her,  listened  to  what 
was  being  said  without  realizing  the  sense  of  the  words, 
answered  the  farmers'  wives  when  they  inquired  after 
her  health,  passively  received  their  kisses  and  kissed  the 
cheeks  which  were  offered  to  her,  and  then  got  into  the 
chaise  again. 

When  she  could  no  longer  see  the  high  roof  of  the 
chateau  through  the  trees,  something  within  her  seemed 
to  break,  and  she  felt  that  she  had  just  said  good-bye  to 
her  old  home  for  ever. 

They  went  straight  back  to  Batteville,  and  as  she  was 
going  indoors  Jeanne  saw  something  white  under  the 
door ;  it  was  a  letter  which  the  postman  haci  slipped  there 
during  their  absence.  She  at  once  recognized  Paul's 
handwriting  and  tore  open  the  envelope  in  an  agony 
of  anxiety.      He  wrote : 

"  My  Dear  Mother:  I  have  not  written  before 
because  I  did  not  want  to  bring  you  to  Paris  on  a  fruit- 
less errand,  for  I  have  always  been  meaning  to  come  and 
see  you  myself.  At  the  present  moment  I  am  in  great 
trouble  and  difficulty.  My  wife  gave  birth  to  a  little 
girl  three  days  ago,  and  now  she  is  dying  and  I  have 
not  a  penny.  I  do  not  know  what  to  do  with  the  child; 
the  doorkeeper  is  trying  to  nourish  it  with  a  feeding- 
bottle  as  best  she  can,  but  I  fear  I  shall  lose  it.  Could 
not  you  take  it?  I  cannot  send  it  to  a  wet  nurse  as  I 
have  not  any  money,  and  I  do  not  know  which  way  to 
turn.      Pray  answer  by  return  post. 

"  Your  loving  son, 

"  Paul." 


UNE  VIE  265 

Jeanne  dropped  on  a  chair  with  hardly  enough 
strength  left  to  call  Rosalie.  The  maid  came  and  they 
read  the  letter  over  again  together,  and  then  sat  look- 
ing at  each  other  in  silence. 

"  I'll  go  and  fetch  the  child  myself,  madame,"  said 
Rosalie  at  last.      "  We  can't  leave  it  to  die." 

"  Very  well,  my  girl,  go,"  answered  Jeanne. 

"  Put  on  your  hat,  madame,"  said  the  maid,  after  a 
pause,  "  and  we  will  go  and  see  the  lawyer  at  Goder- 
ville.  If  that  woman  Is  going  to  die,  M.  Paul  must 
marry  her  for  the  sake  of  the  child." 

Jeanne  put  on  her  hat  without  a  word.  Her  heart 
was  overflowing  with  joy,  but  she  would  not  have  al- 
lowed anyone  to  see  it  for  the  world,  for  It  was  one  of 
those  detestable  joys  In  which  people  can  revel  in  their 
hearts,  but  of  which  they  are  all  the  same  ashamed;  her 
son's  mistress  was  going  to  die. 

The  lawyer  gave  Rosalie  detailed  Instructions  which 
the  servant  made  him  repeat  two  or  three  times ;  then, 
when  she  was  sure  she  knew  exactly  what  to  do,  she 
said: 

"  Don't  you  fear;  I'll  see  It's  all  right  now."  And 
she  started  for  Paris  that  very  night. 

Jeanne  passed  two  days  In  such  an  agony  of  mind  that 
she  could  fix  her  thoughts  on  nothing.  The  third  morn- 
ing she  received  a  line  from  Rosalie  merely  saying  she 
was  coming  back  by  that  evening's  train;  nothing  more; 
and  In  the  afternoon,  about  three  o'clock,  Jeanne  sent 
round  to  a  neighbor  to  ask  him  If  he  would  drive  her 
to  the  Beuzeville  railway  station  to  meet  her  servant. 

She  stood  on  the  platform  looking  down  the  rails 
(which  seemed  to  get  closer  together  right  away  as  far 


266  A  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

off  as  she  could  see),  and  turning  every  now  and  then 
to  look  at  the  clock.  Ten  minutes  more  —  five  min- 
utes —  two  —  and  at  last  the  train  was  due,  though  as 
yet  she  could  see  no  signs  of  it.  Then,  all  at  once,  she 
saw  a  cloud  of  white  smoke,  and  underneath  it  a  black 
speck  which  got  rapidly  larger  and  larger.  The  big 
engine  came  into  the  station,  snorting  and  slackening  its 
speed,  and  Jeanne  looked  eagerly  into  every  window  as 
the  carriages  went  past  her. 

The  doors  opened  and  several  people  got  out  — 
peasants  in  blouses,  farmers'  wives  with  baskets  on  their 
arms,  a  few  bourgeois  in  soft  hats  —  and  at  last  Rosa- 
lie appeared,  carrying  what  looked  like  a  bundle  of  linen 
in  her  arms.  Jeanne  would  have  stepped  forward  to 
meet  her,  but  all  strength  seemed  to  have  left  her  legs 
and  she  feared  she  would  fall  if  she  moved.  The  maid 
saw  her  and  came  up  in  her  ordinary,  calm  way. 

"  Good-day,  madame;  here  I  am  again,  though  I've 
had  some  bother  to  get  along." 

"  Well?  "  gasped  Jeanne. 

"  Well,"  answered  Rosalie,  "  she  died  last  night. 
They  were  married  and  here's  the  baby,"  and  she  held 
out  the  child  which  could  not  be  seen  for  its  wraps. 
Jeanne  mechanically  took  it,  and  they  left  the  station 
and  got  into  the  carriage  which  was  waiting. 

"  M.  Paul  is  coming  directly  after  the  funeral.  I 
suppose  he'll  be  here  to-morrow,  by  this  train." 

"  Paul  — "  murmured  Jeanne,  and  then  stopped  with- 
out saying  anything  more. 

The  sun  was  sinking  towards  the  horizon,  bathing  in 
a  glow  of  light  the  green  fields  which  were  flecked  here 
and  there  with  golden  colewort  flowers  or  blood-red 
poppies,  and  over  the  quiet  country  fell  an  infinite  peace. 


UNE  VIE  267 

The  peasant  who  was  driving  the  chaise  kept  clicking 
his  tongue  to  urge  on  his  horse  which  trotted  swiftly 
along,  and  Jeanne  looked  straight  up  into  the  sky  which 
the  circling  flight  of  the  swallows  seemed  to  cut  asunder. 

All  at  once  she  became  conscious  of  a  soft  warmth 
which  was  making  itself  felt  through  her  skirts;  it  was 
the  heat  from  the  tiny  being  sleeping  on  her  knees,  and 
it  moved  her  strangely.  She  suddenly  drew  back  the 
covering  from  the  child  she  had  not  yet  seen,  that  she 
might  look  at  her  son's  daughter;  as  the  light  fell  on  its 
face  the  little  creature  opened  its  blue  eyes,  and  moved 
its  lips,  and  then  Jeanne  hugged  it  closely  to  her,  and, 
raising  it  in  her  arms,  began  to  cover  it  with  passionate 
kisses. 

"  Come,,  come,  Madame  Jeanne,  have  done,"  said 
Rosalie,  in  sharp,  though  good-tempered  tones;  "you'll 
make  the  child  cry." 

Then  she  added,  as  if  in  reply  to  her  own  thoughts: 

"  After  all,  life  is  never  so  jolly  or  so  miserable  as 
people  seem  to  think." 


HAUTOT  SENIOR 

AND 

HAUTOT  JUNIOR 
PART  I 

IN  front  of  the  building,  half  farm-house,  half 
manor-house,  one  of  those  rural  habitations  of  a 
mixed  character  which  were  all  but  seigneurial,  and 
which  are  at  the  present  time  occupied  by  large  cultiva- 
tors, the  dogs  lashed  beside  the  apple-trees  in  the  orchard 
near  the  house,  kept  barking  and  howling  at  the  sight  of 
the  shooting-bags  carried  by  the  gamekeepers  and  the 
boys.  In  the  spacious  dining-room  kitchen,  Hautot 
Senior  and  Hautot  Junior,  M.  Bermont,  the  tax-col- 
lector, and  M.  Mondaru,  the  notary  were  taking  a  pick 
and  drinking  a  glass  before  going  out  to  shoot,  for  it 
was  the  opening  day. 

Hautot  Senior,  proud  of  all  his  possessions,  talked 
boastfully  beforehand  of  the  game  which  his  guests  were 
going  to  find  on  his  lands.  He  was  a  big  Norman,  one 
of  those  powerful,  sanguineous,  bony  men,  who  lift 
wagon-loads  of  apples  on  their  shoulders.  Half- 
peasant,  half-gentleman,  rich,  respected,  influential,  in- 
vested with  authority  he  made  his  son  Cesar  go  as  far 
as  the  third  form  at  school,  so  that  he  might  be  an 
educated  man,  and  there  he  had  brought  his  studies  to 
a  stop  for  fear  of  his  becoming  a  fine  gentleman  and 
paying  no  attention  to  the  land. 

Cesar    Hautot,    almost    as    tall    as    his    father,    but 

268 


HAUTOT  SENIOR  AND  JUNIOR       269 

thinner,  was  a  good  son,  docile,  content  with  everything, 
full  of  admiration,  respect,  and  deference,  for  the  wishes 
and  opinions  of  his  sire. 

M,  Bermont,  the  tax-collector,  a  stout  little  man,  who 
showed  on  his  red  cheeks  a  thin  network  of  violet  veins 
resembling  the  tributaries  and  the  winding  courses  of 
rivers  on  maps,  asked : 

"  And  hares  —  are  there  any  hares  on  it?  " 

Hautot  Senior  answered: 

"  As  much  as  you  like,  especially  in  the  Puysatier 
lands." 

''Which  direction  are  we  to  begin  at?"  asked  the 
notary,  a  jolly  notary  fat  and  pale,  big  paunched  too, 
and  strapped  up  in  an  entirely  new  hunting-costume 
bought  at  Rouen. 

"  Well,  that  way,  through  these  grounds.  We  will 
drive  the  partridges  into  the  plain,  and  we  will  beat 
there  again." 

And  Hautot  Senior  rose  up.  They  all  followed  his 
example,  took  their  guns  out  of  the  corners,  examined 
the  locks,  stamped  with  their  feet  in  order  to  feel  them- 
selves firmer  in  their  boots  which  were  rather  hard,  not 
having  as  yet  been  rendered  flexible  by  the  heat  of  the 
blood.  Then  they  went  out;  and  the  dogs,  standing 
erect  at  the  ends  of  their  lashes,  gave  vent  to  piercing 
howls  while  beating  the  air  with  their  paws. 

They  set  forth  for  the  lands  referred  to.  They 
consisted  of  a  little  glen,  or  rather  a  long  undulating 
stretch  of  inferior  soil,  which  had  on  that  account  re- 
mained uncultivated,  furrowed  with  mountain-torrents, 
covered  with  ferns,  an  excellent  preserve  for  game. 

The  sportsmen  took  up  their  positions  at  some  dis- 
tance from  each  other,  Hautot  Senior  posting  himself 


270  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

at  the  right,  Hautot  Junior  at  the  left,  and  the  two 
guests  in  the  middle.  The  keeper  and  those  who  car- 
ried the  game-bags  followed.  It  was  the  solemn 
moment  when  the  first  shot  it  awaited,  when  the  heart 
beats  a  little,  while  the  nervous  finger  keeps  feeling  at 
the  gun-lock  every  second. 

Suddenly  the  shot  went  off.  Hautot  Senior  had 
fired.  They  all  stopped,  and  saw  a  partridge  breaking 
off  from  a  covey  which  was  rushing  along  at  a  single 
flight  to  fall  down  into  a  ravine  under  a  thick  growth 
of  brushwood.  The  sportsman,  becoming  excited, 
rushed  forward  with  rapid  strides,  thrusting  aside  the 
briers  which  stood  in  his  path,  and  he  disappeared  in 
his  turn  into  the  thicket,  in  quest  of  his  game. 

Almost  at  the  same  instant,  a  second  shot  was  heard. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  the  rascal !  "  exclaimed  M.  Bermont,  "  he 
will  unearth  a  hare  down  there." 

They  all  waited,  with  their  eyes  riveted  on  the  heap 
of  branches  through  which  their  gaze  failed  to 
penetrate. 

The  notary,  making  a  speaking-trumpet  of  his  hands, 
shouted: 

"  Have  you  got  them?  " 

Hautot  Senior  made  no  response. 

Then  Cesar,  turning  towards  the  keeper,  said  to  him : 

"  Just  go,  and  assist  him,  Joseph.  We  must  keep 
walking  in  a  straight  line.     We'll  wait." 

And  Joseph,  an  old  stump  of  a  man,  lean  and  knotty, 
all  whose  joints  formed  protuberances,  proceeded  at  an 
easy  pace  down  the  ravine,  searching  at  every  opening 
through  which  a  passage  could  be  effected  with  the  cau- 
tiousness of  a  fox.     Then,  suddenly,  he  cried: 


HAUTOT  SENIOR  AND  JUNIOR       271 

"Oh!  come!  come!  an  unfortunate  thing  has  oc- 
curred." 

They  all  hurried  forward,  plunging  through  the 
briers. 

The  elder  Hautot,  who  had  fallen  on  his  side, 
in  a  fainting  condition,  kept  both  his  hands  over 
his  stomach,  from  which  flowed  down  upon  the 
grass  through  the  linen  vest  torn  by  the  lead,  long 
streamlets  of  blood.  As  he  was  laying  down  his  gun, 
in  order  to  seize  the  partridge,  within  reach  of  him,  he 
had  let  the  firearm  fall,  and  the  second  discharge  going 
oft  with  the  shock,  had  torn  open  his  entrails.  They 
drew  him  out  of  the  trench;  they  removed  his  clothes, 
and  they  saw  a  frightful  wound,  through  which  the  in- 
testines came  out.  Then,  after  having  bandaged  him 
the  best  way  they  could,  they  brought  him  back  to  his 
own  house,  and  they  awaited  the  doctor,  who  had  been, 
sent  for,  as  well  as  a  priest. 

When  the  doctor  arrived,  he  gravely  shook  his  head, 
and,  turning  towards  young  Hautot,  who  was  sobbing 
on  a  chair: 

"  My  poor  boy,"  said  he,  "  this  has  not  a  good  look," 

But,  when  the  dressing  was  finished,  the  wounded  man 
moved  his  fingers,  opened  his  mouth,  then  his  eyes,  cast 
around  his  troubled,  haggard  glances,  then  appeared  to 
search  about  in  his  memory,  to  recollect,  to  understand, 
and  he  murmured: 

"  Ah !  good  God !  this  has  done  for  me !  " 

The  doctor  held  his  hand. 

"  Why  no,  why  no,  some  days  of  rest  merely  —  it 
will  be  nothing." 

Hautot  returned: 


272  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"It  has  done  for  me!  My  stomach  is  split!  I 
know  it  well." 

Then,  all  of  a  sudden  : 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  the  son,  if  I  have  the  time." 

Hautot  Junior,  in  spite  of  himself,  shed  tears,  and 
kept  repeating  like  a  little  boy. 

"  P'pa,  p'pa,  poor  p'ps !  " 

But  the  father,  in  a  firmer  tone : 

"Come!  stop  crying  —  this  is  not  the  time  for  it. 
I  have  to  talk  to  you.  Sit  down  there  quite  close  to  me. 
It  will  be  quickly  done,  and  I  will  be  more  calm.  As 
for  the  rest  of  you,  kindly  give  me  one  minute." 

They  all  went  out,  leaving  the  father  and  son  face  to 
face. 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone  : 

"  Listen,  son!  you  are  twenty-four  years;  one  can  say 
things  like  this  to  you.  And  then  there  is  -not  such 
mystery  about  these  matters  as  we  import  into  them. 
You  know  well  that  your  mother  is  seven  years  dead, 
isn't  that  so?  and  that  I  am  not  more  than  forty-five 
years  myself,  seeing  that  I  got  married  at  nineteen.  Is 
not  that  true?  " 

The  son  faltered: 

"  Yes,  it  is  true." 

"  So  then  your  mother  is  seven  years  dead,  and  I 
have  remained  a  widower.  Well !  a  man  like  me  cannot 
remain  without  a  wife  at  thirty-seven  isn't  that  true?  " 

The  son  replied: 

"  Yes,  it  is  true." 

The  father,  out  of  breath,  quite  pale,  and  his  face 
contracted  with  suffering,  went  on : 

"God!  what  pain  I  feel!  Well,  you  understand. 
Man  is  not  made  to  live  alone,  but  I  did  not  want  to 


HAUTOT  SENIOR  AND  JUNIOR       273 

take  a  successor  to  your  mother,  since  I  promised  her 
not  to  do  so.     Then  —  you  understand?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  So,  I  kept  a  young  girl  at  Rouen,  Reu  de  I'Eperlan 
18,  in  the  third  story,  the  second  door  —  I  tell  you  all 
this,  don't  forget  —  but  a  young  girl,  who  has  been  very 
nice  to  me,  loving,  devoted,  a  true  woman,  eh?  You 
comprehend,  my  lad?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  So  then,  if  I  am  carried  off,  I  owe  something  to  her, 
but  something  substantial,  that  will  place  her  in  a  safe 
position.     You  understand?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  I  tell  you  that  she  is  an  honest  girl,  and  that,  but 
for  you,  and  the  remembrance  of  your  mother,  and 
again  but  for  the  house  in  which  we  three  lived,  I  would 
hav^e  brought  her  here,  and  then  married  her,  for  certain 

—  listen  —  listen,  my  lad.     I  might  have  made  a  will 

—  I  haven't  done  so.  I  did  not  wish  to  do  so  —  for 
it  is  not  necessary  to  write  down  things  —  things  of  this 
sort  —  it  is  too  hurtful  to  the  legitimate  children  —  and 
then  it  embroils  everything  —  it  ruins  everyone  !  Look 
you,  the  stamped  paper,  there's  no  need  of  it  —  never 
make  use  of  it.  If  I  am  rich,  it  is  because  I  have  not 
made  use  of  what  I  have  during  my  own  life.  You  un- 
derstand, my  son?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Listen  again  —  listen  well  to  me !     So  then,  I  have 

made  no  will  —  I  did  not  desire  to  do  so  —  and  then  I 

knew  what  you  were;  you  have  a  good  heart;  you  are 

not  niggardly,  not  too  near,  in  any  way,  I  said  to  myself 

that  when  my  end  approached  I  would  tell  you  all  about 

it,  and  that  I  would  beg  of  you  not  to  forget  the  girl. 
V— 18 


274  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

And  then  listen  again !  When  I  am  gone,  make  your 
way  to  the  place  at  once  —  and  make  such  arrange- 
ments that  she  may  not  blame  my  memory.  You  have 
plenty  of  means.  I  leave  it  to  you  —  I  leave  you 
enough.  Listen !  You  won't  find  her  at  home  every 
day  in  the  week.  She  works  at  Madame  Moreau's  in 
the  Rue  Beauvoisine.  Go  there  on  a  Thursday.  That 
is  the  day  she  expects  me.  It  has  been  my  day  for 
the  past  six  years.  Poor  little  thing !  she  will  weep  !  — 
I  say  all  this  to  you,  because  I  have  known  you  so  well, 
my  son.  One  does  not  tell  these  things  in  public  either 
to  the  notary  or  to  the  priest.  They  happen  —  every- 
one knows  that  —  but  they  are  not  talked  about,  save 
in  case  of  necessity.  Then  there  is  no  outsider  m  the 
secret,  nobody  except  the  family,  because  the  family  con- 
sists of  one  person  alone.     You  understand?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Do  you  promise?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Do  you  swear  it?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  I  beg  of  you,  I  implore  of  you,  son  do  not  forget. 
I  bind  you  to  it." 

■"  No,  father." 

"  You  will  go  yourself.  I  want  you  to  make. sure  of 
evervthing." 

"Yes,  father." 

"And,  then,  you  will  see  —  you  will  see  what  she 
will  explain  to  you.  As  for  me,  I  can  say  no  more  to 
you.     You  have  vowed  to  do  it." 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  That's   good,   my   son.     Embrace   me.     Farewell. 


HAUTOT  SENIOR  AND  JUNIOR       275 

I  am  going  to  break  up,  I'm  sure.     Tell  them   they  may 


come  in." 


Young  Hautot  embraced  his  father,  groaning  while 
he  did  so;  then,  always  docile,  he  opened  the  door,  and 
the  priest  appeared  in  a  white  surplice,  carrying  the 
holy  oils. 

But  the  dying  man  had  closed  his  eyes,  and  he  refused 
to  open  them  again,  he  refused  to  answer,  he  refused 
to  show,  even  by  a  sign,  that  he  understood. 

He  had  spoken  enough,  this  man;  he  could  speak  no 
more.  Besides  he  now  felt  his  heart  calm;  he  wanted 
to  die  in  peace.  What  need  had  he  to  make  a  confession 
to  the  deputy  of  God,  since  he  had  just  done  so  to  his 
son,  who  constituted  his  own  family? 

He  received  the  last  rites,  was  purified  and  absolved, 
in  the  midst  of  his  friends  and  his  servants  on  their 
bended  knees,  without  any  movement  of  his  face  indicat- 
ing that  he  still  lived. 

He  expired  about  midnight,  after  four  hours'  con- 
vulsive movements,  which  showed  that  he  must  have 
suffered  dreadfully  in  his  last  moments. 

PART  II 

It  was  on  the  following  Tuesday  that  they  buried 
him,  the  shooting  opened  on  Sunday.  On  his  return 
home,  after  having  accompanied  his  father  to  the  ceme- 
tery, Cesar  Hautot  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  weeping. 
He  scarcely  slept  at  all  on  the  following  night,  and  he 
felt  so  sad  on  awakening  that  he  asked  himself  how  he 
could  go  on  living. 

However,  he  kept  thinking  until  evening  that,  in  or- 


276  GUY.  DE  MAUPASSANT 

der  to  obey  the  last  wish  of  his  father,  he  ought  to  re- 
pair to  Rouen  next  day,  and  see  this  girl  Catholine 
Donet,  who  resided  in  the  Rue  d'Eperlan  in  the  third 
story,  second  door.  He  had  repeated  to  himself  in  a 
whisper,  just  as  a  little  boy  repeats  a  prayer,  this  name 
and  address,  a  countless  number  of  times,  so  that  he 
might  not  forget  them,  and  he  ended  by  lisping  them 
continually,  without  being  able  to  stop  or  to  think  of 
what  it  was,  so  much  were  his  tongue  and  his  mind 
possessed  by  the  appellation. 

According,  on  the  following  day,  about  eight  o'clock, 
he  ordered  Graindorge  to  be  yoked  to  the  tilbury,  and 
set  forth,  at  the  quick  trotting  pace  of  the  heavy  Nor- 
man horse,  along  the  high  road  from  the  Ainville  to 
Rouen,  He  wore  his  black  frock  coat  drawn  over  his 
shoulders,  a  tall  silk  hat  on  his  head,  and  on  his  legs 
his  breeches  with  straps ;  and  he  did  not  wish,  on  account 
of  the  occasion,  to  dispense  with  the  handsome  cos- 
tume, the  blue  overall  which  swelled  in  the  wind,  pro- 
tected the  cloth  from  dust  and  from  stains,  and  which 
was  to  be  removed  quickly  on  reaching  his  destination 
the  moment  he  had  jumped  out  of  the  coach. 

He  entered  Rouen  accordingly  just  as  it  was  striking 
ten  o'clock,  drew  up,  as  he  had  usually  done  at  the  Hotel 
des  Bon-Enfants,  in  the  Rue  des  Trois-Mares,  sub- 
mitted to  the  hugs  of  the  landlord  and  his  wife  and  their 
five  children,  for  they  had  heard  the  melancholy  news; 
after  that,  he  had  to  tell  them  all  the  particulars  about 
the  accident,  which  caused  him  to  shed  tears,  to  repel 
all  the  proffered  attentions  which  they  sought  to  thrust 
upon  him  merely  because  he  was  wealthy,  and  to  decline 
even  the  breakfast  they  wanted  him  to  partake  of,  thus 
wounding  their  sensibilities. 


HAUTOT  SENIOR  AND  JUNIOR       277 

Then,  having  wiped  the  dust  oft  his  hat,  brushed  his 
coat  and  removed  the  mud  stains  from  his  boots,  he  set 
forth  in  search  of  the  Rue  de  I'Eperlan,  without  ventur- 
ing to  make  inquiries  from  anyone,  for  fear  of  being 
recognized  and  arousing  suspicions. 

At  length,  being  unable  to  find  the  place,  he  saw  a 
priest  passing  by,  and,  trusting  to  the  professional  dis- 
cretion which  churchmen  possess,  he  questioned  the  ec- 
clesiastic. 

He  had  only  a  hundred  steps  farther  to  go;  It  was 
exactly  the  second  street  to  the  right. 

Then  he  hesitated.  Up  to  that  moment,  he  had 
obeyed,  like  a  mere  animal,  the  expressed  wish  of  the 
deceased.  Now  he  felt  quite  agitated,  confused,  humil- 
iated, at  the  idea  of  finding  himself  —  the  son  —  in 
the  presence  of  this  woman  who  had  been  his  father's 
mistress.  All  the  morality  which  lies  buried  in  our 
breasts,  heaped  up  at  the  bottom  of  our  sensuous  emo- 
tions by  centuries  of  hereditary  instruction,  all  that  he 
had  been  taught  since  he  had  learned  his  catechism  about 
creatures  of  evil  life,  to  instinctive  contempt  which 
ev^ery  man  entertains  towards  them,  even  though  he  may 
marry  one  of  them,  all  the  narrow  honesty  of  the 
peasant  in  his  character,  was  stirred  up  within  him,  and 
held  him  back,  making  him  grow  red  with  shame. 

But  he  said  to  himself: 

"  I  promised  the  father,  I  must  not  break  my 
promise." 

Then  he  gave  a  push  to  the  door  of  the  house  bearing 
the  number  18,  which  stood  ajar,  discovered  a  gloomy- 
looking  staircase,  ascended  three  flights,  perceived  a 
door,  then  a  second  door,  came  upon  the  string  of  a  bell, 
and  pulled  it.     The  ringing,  which  resounded  in  the 


278  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

apartment  before  which  he  stood,  sent  a  shiver  through 
his  frame.  The  door  was  opened,  and  he  found  him- 
self facing  a  young  lady  very  well  dressed,  a  brunette 
with  a  fresh  complexion  who  gazed  at  him  with  eyes  of 
astonishment. 

He  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  her,  and  she  who 
suspected  nothing,  and  who  was  waiting  for  the 
other,  did  not  invite  him  to  come  in.  They  stood 
looking  thus  at  one  another  for  nearly  half-a-minute,  at 
the  end  of  which  she  said  in  a  questioning  tone: 

"  You  have  something  to  tell  me  Monsieur?  "  He 
falteringly  replied : 

"  I  am  M.  Hautot's  son." 

She  gave  a  start,  turned  pale,  and  stammered  out  as 
If  she  had  known  him  for  a  long  time: 

"  Monsieur  Cesar?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  what  next?  " 

"  I  have  come  to  speak  to  you  on  the  part  of  my 
father." 

She  articulated : 

"Oh  my  God!" 

She  then  drew  back  so  that  he  might  enter.  He 
shut  the  door  and  followed  her  into  the  interior.  Then 
he  saw  a  little  boy  of  four  or  five  years  playing  with  a 
cat,  seated  on  a  floor  in  front  of  a  stove,  from  which 
rose  the  steam  of  dishes  which  were  being  kept  hot. 

"  Take  a  seat,"  she  said. 

He  sat  down. 

She  asked: 

"Well?" 

He  no  longer  ventured  to  speak,  keeping  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  table  which  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room, 


HAUTOT  SENIOR  AND  JUNIOR       279 

with  three  covers  laid  on  it,  one  of  which  was  for  a  child. 
He  glanced  at  the  chair  which  had  its  back  turned  to  the 
lire.  They  had  been  expecting  him.  That  was  his 
bread  which  he  saw,  and  which  he  recognized  near  the 
fork,  for  the  crust  had  been  removed  on  account  of 
Hautot's  bad  teeth.  Then,  raising  his  eyes,  he  noticed 
on  the  wall  his  father's  portrait,  the  large  photograph 
taken  at  Paris  the  year  of  the  exhibition,  the  same  as 
that  which  hung  above  the  bed  In  the  sleeping  apart- 
ment at  Ainville. 

The  young  woman  again  asked : 

"Well,  Monsieur  Cesar?" 

He  kept  staring  at  her.  Her  face  was  livid  with 
anguish;  and  she  waited,  her  hands  trembling  with  fear. 

Then  he  took  courage. 

"  Well,  Mam'zelle,  papa  died  on  Sunday  last  just  af- 
ter he  had  opened  the  shooting." 

She  was  so  much  overwhelmed  that  she  did  not  move. 
After  a  silence  of  a  few  seconds,  she  faltered  in  an  al- 
most inaudible  tone : 

"  Oh  !  it  is  not  possible  !  " 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  tears  showed  themselves  in  her 
eyes,  and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she  burst  out 
sobbing. 

At  that  point  the  little  boy  turned  round,  and,  seeing 
his  mother  weeping,  began  to  howl.  Then,  realizing 
that  this  sudden  trouble  was  brought  about  by  the 
stranger,  he  rushed  at  Cesar,  caught  hold  of  his  breeches 
with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  hit  him  with  all  his 
strength  on  the  thigh.  And  Cesar  remained  agitated, 
deeply  affected,  with  this  woman  mourning  for  his 
father  at  one  side  of  him,  and  the  little  boy  defending 
his  mother  at  the  other.      He  felt  their  emotion  taking 


28o  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

possession  of  himself,  and  his  eyes  were  beginning  to 
brim  over  with  the  same  sorrow ;  so,  to  recover  her  self- 
command,  he  began  to  talk: 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  accident  occurred  on  Sunday, 
at  eight  o'clock  — ." 

And  he  told,  as  if  she  were  listening  to  him,  all  the 
facts  without  forgetting  a  single  detail,  mentioning  the 
most  trivial  matters  with  the  minuteness  of  a  country- 
man. And  the  child  still  kept  assailing  him,  making 
kicks  at  his  ankles. 

When  he  came  to  the  time  at  which  his  father  had 
spoken  about  her,  her  attention  was  caught  by  hearing 
her  own  name,  and,  uncovering  her  face  she  said : 

"  Pardon  me!  I  was  not  following  you;  I  would  like 
to  know  —  If  you  did  not  mind  beginning  over  again." 

He  related  everything  at  great  length,  with  stoppages, 
breaks  and  reflections  of  his  own  from  time  to  time. 
She  listened  to  him  eagerly  now  perceiving  with  a 
woman's  keen  sensibility  all  the  sudden  changes  of  for- 
tune which  his  narrative  Indicated,  and  trembling  with 
horror,  every  now  and  then,  exclaiming : 

"Oh,  my  God!" 

The  little  fellow,  believing  that  she  had  calmed  down, 
ceased  beating  Cesar,  in  order  to  catch  his  mother's 
hand,  and  he  listened,  too,  as  if  he  understood. 

When  the  narrative  was  finished,  young  Hautot  con- 
tinued : 

"  Now  we  will  settle  matters  together  in  accordance 
with  his  wishes." 

"Listen:  I  am  well  off  he  has  left  me  plenty  of 
means.  I  don't  want  you  to  have  anything  to  complain 
about  — " 

But  she  quickly  interrupted  him. 


HAUTOT  SENIOR  AND  JUNIOR       281 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  Cesar,  Monsieur  Cesar,  not  to-day. 
I  am  cut  to  the  heart  —  another  time  —  another  day. 
No,  not  to-day.  If  I  accept,  listen !  'Tis  not  for  my- 
self —  no,  no,  no,  I  swear  to  you.  'Tis  for  the  child. 
Besides  this  provision  will  be  put  to  his  account." 

Thereupon,  Cesar  scared,  divined  the  truth,  and 
stammering : 

"  So  then  —'tis  his  —  the  child  ?  " 
"  Why,  yes,"  she  said. 

And  Hautot,  Junior,  gazed  at  his  brother  with  a  con- 
fused emotion,  intense  and  painful. 

After  a  lengthened  silence,  for  she  had  begun  to  weep 
afresh,  Cesar,  quite  embarrassed,  went  on: 

"  Well,  then,  Mam'zelle  Donet  I  am  going.     When 
would  you  wish  to  talk  this  over  with  me?  " 
She  exclaimed: 

"  Oh!  no,  don't  go!  don't  go.  Don't  leave  me  all 
alone  with  Emile.  I  would  die  of  grief.  I  have  no 
longer  anyone,  anyone  but  my  child.  Oh !  what  wretch- 
edness, what  wretchedness.  Mousieur  Cesar !  Stop  I 
Sit  down  again.  You  will  say  something  more  to  me. 
You  will  tell  me  what  he  was  doing  over  there  all  the 
week." 

And  Cesar  resumed  his  seat,  accustomed  to  obey. 
She  drew  over  another  chair  for  herself  in  front  of 
the  stove,  where  the  dishes  had  all  this  time  been  sim- 
mering,  took  Emile  upon  her  knees,  and  asked  Cesar  a 
thousand  questions  about  his  father  with  reference  to ' 
matters  of  an  intimate  nature,  which  made  him  feel 
without  reasoning  on  the  subject,  that  she  had  loved 
Hautot  with  all  the  strength  of  her  frail  woman's  heart. 
And,  by  the  natural  concatenation  of  his  ideas  — 
which  were  rather  limited  in  number  —  he  recurred  once 


282  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

more  to  the  accident,  and  set  about  telling  the  story  over 
again  with  all  the  same  details. 

When  he  said : 

"  He  had  a  hole  in  his  stomach  —  you  could  put  your 
two  fists  into  It." 

She  gave  vent  to  a  sort  of  shriek,  and  the  tears  gushed 
forth  again  from  her  eyes. 

Then  seized  by  the  contagion  of  her  grief,  Cesar  be- 
gan to  weep,  too,  and  as  tears  always  soften  the  fibers 
of  the  heart,  he  bent  over  Emile  whose  forehead  was 
close  to  his  own  mouth,  and  kissed  him. 

The  mother,  recovering  her  breath,  murmured: 

"  Poor  lad,  he  is  an  orphan  now !  " 

"  And  so  am  I,"  said  Cesar. 

And  they  ceased  to  talk. 

But  suddenly  the  practical  instinct  of  the  housewife, 
accustomed  to  be  thoughtful  about  many  things,  re- 
vived in  the  young  woman's  breast. 

"  You  have  perhaps  taken  nothing  all  the  morning, 
Monsieur  Cesar." 

"  No,  Mam'zelle." 

"  Oh!  you  must  be  hungry.      You  will  eat  a  morsel." 

"  Thanks,"  he  said,  "  I  am  not  hungry;  I  have  had 
too  much  trouble." 

She  replied: 

"  In  spite  of  sorrow,  we  must  live.  You  will  not  re- 
fuse to  let  me  get  something  for  you !  And  then  you 
will  remain  a  little  longer.  When  you  are  gone,  I  don't 
know  what  will  become  of  me." 

He  yielded  after  some  further  resistance,  and,  sitting 
down  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  facing  her,  he  ate  a  plate- 
ful of  tripe,  which  had  been  bubbling  in  the  stove,  and 
drank  a  glass  of  red  wine.     But  he  would  not  allow 


HAUTOT  SENIOR  AND  JUNIOR       283 

her  to  uncork  the  bottle  of  white  wine.  He  several 
times  wiped  the  mouth  of  the  little  boy,  who  had 
smeared  all  his  chin  with  sauce. 

As  he  was  rising  up  to  go,  he  asked : 
"  When  would  you  like  me  to  come  back  to  speak 
about  this  business  to  you,  Mam'zelle  Donet?  " 

"  If  it  is  all  the  same  to  you,  say  next  Thursday, 
Monsieur  Cesar.     In  that  way,  I  would  lose  none  of 
my  time,  as  I  always  have  my  Thursdays  free." 
"That  will  suit  me  —  next  Thursday." 
"  You  will  come  to  lunch.     Won't  you  ? 
"  Oh!  On  that  point  I  can't  give  you  a  promise." 
"  The  reason  I  suggested  is  that  people  can  chat  bet- 
ter when  they  are  eating.     One  has  more  time  too." 
"  Well,  be  it  so.     About  twelve  o'clock,  then." 
And  he  took  his  departure,  after  he  had  again  kissed 
little  Emile,  and  pressed  Mademoiselle  Donet's  hand. 

PART  III 

The  week  appeared  long  to  Cesar  Hautot.  He  haJi 
never  before  found  himself  alone,  and  the  isolation 
seemed  to  him  insupportable.  Till  now,  he  had  lived 
at  his  father's  side,  just  like  his  shadow,  followed  him 
into  the  fields,  superintended  the  execution  of  his  or- 
ders, and,  when  they  had  been  a  short  time  separated, 
again  met  him  at  dinner.  They  had  spent  the  evenings 
smoking  their  pipes,  face  to  face  with  one  another, 
chatting  about  horses,  cows  or  sheep,  and  the  grip  of 
their  hands  when  they  rose  up  In  the  morning  might 
have  been  regarded  as  a  manifestation  of  deep  family 
affection  011  both  sides. 

Now  Cesar  was  alone,  he  went  vacantly  through  th^ 


2  84  GUY  DE  iMAU PASSANT 

process  of  dressing  the  soil  of  autumn,  every  moment 
expecting  to  see  the  tall  gesticulating  silhouette  of  his 
father  rising  up  at  the  end  of  a  plain.  To  kill  time, 
he  entered  the  houses  of  his  neighbors,  told  about  the 
accident  to  all  who  had  not  heard  of  it,  and  sometimes 
repeated  it  to  the  others.  Then,  after  he  had  finished 
his  occupations  and  his  reflections,  he  would  sit  down  at 
the  side  of  a  road,  asking  himself  whether  this  kind  of 
life  was  going  to  last  for  ever. 

He  frequently  thought  of  jMademoiselle  Donet. 
He  liked  her.  He  considered  her  thoroughly  respect- 
able, a  gentle  and  honest  young  woman,  as  his  father 
had  said.  Yes,  undoubtedly  she  was  an  honest  girl. 
He  resolved  to  act  handsomely  towards  her,  and  to 
give  her  two  thousand  francs  a  year,  settling  the  capital 
on  the  child.  He  even  experienced  a  certain  pleasure 
in  thinking  that  he  was  going  to  see  her  on  the  following 
Thursday  and  arrange  this  matter  with  her.  And  then 
the  notion  of  this  brother,  this  little  chap  of  five,  who 
was  his  father's  son,  plagued  him,  annoyed  him  a  little, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  exhibited  him.  He  had,  as  it 
Avere,  a  family  in  this  brat,  sprung  from  a  clandestine  al- 
liance, who  would  never  bear  the  name  of  Hautot,  a 
family  which  he  might  take  or  leave,  just  as  he  pleased, 
but  which  would  recall  his  father. 

And  so,  when  he  saw  himself  on  the  road  to  Rouen  on 
Thursday  morning,  carried  along  by  Graindorge 
trotting  with  clattering  foot-beats,  he  felt  his  heart 
lighter,  more  at  peace  than  he  had  hitherto  felt  it  since 
his  bereavement. 

On  entering  Mademoiselle  Donet's  apartment,  he 
saw  the  table  laid  as  on  the  previous  Thursday  with  the 
sole  difference  that  the  crust  had  not  been  removed  from 


HAUTOT  SENIOR  AND  JUNIOR       285 

the  bread.  He  pressed  the  young  woman's  hand,  kissed 
Emlle  on  the  cheeks,  and  sat  down,  more  at  ease  than  If 
he  were  in  his  own  house,  his  heart  swelling  in  the  same 
way.  Mademoiselle  Donet  seemed  to  him  a  little 
thinner  and  paler.  She  must  have  grieved  sorely.  She 
wore  now  an  air  of  constraint  in  his  presence,  as  if  she 
understood  what  she  had  not  felt  the  week  before  under 
the  first  blow  of  her  misfortune,  and  she  exhibited  an 
excessive  deference  towards  him,  a  mournful  humility, 
and  made  touching  efforts  to  please  him,  as  if  to  pay 
him  back  by  her  attentions  for  the  kindness  he  had  mani- 
fested towards  her.  They  were  a  long  time  at  lunch 
talking  over  the  business,  which  had  brought  him  there. 
She  did  not  want  so  much  money.  It  was  too  much. 
She  earned  enough  to  live  on  herself,  but  she  only 
wished  that  Emile  might  find  a  few  sous  awaiting  him 
when  he  grew  big.  Cesar  held  out,  however,  and  even 
added  a  gift  of  a  thousand  francs  for  herself  for  the 
expense  of  mourning. 

When  he  had  taken  his  coffee,  she  asked: 

"  Do  you  smoke?  " 

"  Yes  —  I  have  my  pipe." 

He  felt  in  his  pocket.  Good  God!  He  had  forgot- 
ten it !  He  was  becoming  quite  woebegone  about  it 
when  she  offered  him  a  pipe  of  his  father  that  had  been 
shut  up  in  a  cupboard.  He  accepted  it,  took  it  up  in 
his  hand,  recognized  it,  smelled  it,  spoke  of  its  quality 
in  a  tone  of  emotion,  filled  it  with  tobacco,  and  lighted 
it.  Then,  he  set  Emiie  astride  on  his  knee,  and  made 
him  play  the  cavalier,  while  she  removed  the  table- 
cloth, and  put  the  soiled  plates  at  one  end  of  the 
sideboard  in  order  to  wash  them  as  soon  as  he  was 
gone. 


2  86  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

About  three  o'clock,  he  rose  up  with  regret,  quite  an- 
noyed at  the  thought  of  having  to  go. 

"  Well !  Mademoiselle  Donet,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  you 
good  evening,  and  am  delighted  to  have  found  you 
like  this." 

She  remained  standing  before  him,  blushing,  much 
affected,  and  gazed  at  him  while  she  thought  of  the 
other. 

"  Shall  we  not  see  one  another  again?  "  she  said. 

He  replied  simply: 

"  Why,  yes,  mam'zelle,  if  it  gives  you  pleasure." 

"  Certainly,  Monsieur  Cesar.  Will  next  Thursday 
suit  you  then?  " 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle  Donet." 

"  You  will  come  to  lunch,  of  course?  " 

"  Well  —  if  you  are  so  kind  as  to  invite  me,  I  can't 
refuse." 

"It  is  understood,  then.  Monsieur  Cesar  —  next 
Thursday  at  twelve,  tke  same  as  to-day."  • 

"Thursday  at  twelve,  Mam'zelle  Donet!" 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE 

MEDERIC  Rompel,  the  postman,  who  was 
familiarly  called  by  the  country  people 
Mederi,  started  at  the  usual  hour  from 
the  posthouse  at  Rouy-le-Tors.  Having  passed  through 
the  little  town  with  his  big  strides  of  an  old  trooper,  he 
first  cut  across  the  meadows  of  Villaumes  in  order  to 
reach  the  bank  of  the  Brindelle,  which  led  him  along 
the  water's  edge  to  the  village  of  Carvelin,  where  his 
distribution  commenced.  He  went  quickly,  following 
the  course  of  the  narrow  river,  which  frothed,  mur- 
mured, and  boiled  along  its  bed  of  grass,  under  an  arch 
of  willow-trees.  The  big  stones,  impeding  the  flow, 
had  around  them  a  cushion  of  water,  a  sort  of  cravat 
ending  in  a  knot  of  foam.  In  some  places,  there  were 
cascades,  a  foot  wide,  often  invisible,  which  made  under 
the  leaves,  under  the  tendrils,  under  a  roof  of  verdure, 
a  big  noise  at  once  angry  and  gentle;  then,  further  on, 
the  banks  widened  out,  and  you  saw  a  small,  placid  lake 
where  trouts  were  swimming  in  the  midst  of  all  that 
green  vegetation  which  keeps  undulating  in  the  depths  of 
tranquil  streams. 

Mederic  went  on  without  a  halt,  seeing  nothing,  and 
with  only  this  thought  in  his  mind:  "  My  first  letter  is 
for  the  Poivron  family,  then  I  have  one  for  M. 
Renardet;  so  I  must  cross  the  wood." 

His  blue  blouse,  fastened  round  his  waist  by  a  black 
leathern  belt  moved  in  a  quick,  regular  fashion  above 
the  green  hedge  of  the  willow-trees ;  and  his  stick  of  stout 

287 


288  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

holly  kept  time  with  the  steady  movement  of  his  legs. 

Then,  he  crossed  the  Brindelle  over  a  bridge  formed 
of  a  single  tree  thrown  lengthwise,  with  a  rope  attached 
to  two  stakes  driven  into  the  river's  banks  as  its  only 
balustrade. 

The  wood,  which  belonged  to  M.  Renardet,  the 
Mayor  of  Carvelin,  and  the  largest  landowner  in  the 
district,  consisted  of  a  number  of  huge  old  trees,  straight 
as  pillars,  and  extending  for  about  half  a  league  along 
the  left-bank  of  the  stream  which  served  as  a  boundary 
for  this  immense  arch  of  foliage.  Alongside  the  water 
there  were  large  shrubs  warmed  by  the  sun;  but  under 
the  trees  you  found  nothing  but  moss,  thick,  soft,  plastic 
moss,  which  exhaled  into  the  stagnant  air  a  light  odor  of 
loam  with  withered  branches. 

Mederic  slackened  his  pace,  took  off  his  black  cap 
adorned  with  red  lace,  and  wiped  his  forehead,  for  it 
was  by  this  time  hot  in  the  meadows,  though  it  was  not 
yet  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

He  had  just  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  heat, 
and  resumed  his  accelerated  pace  when  he  noticed  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree  a  knife,  a  child's  small  knife.  When 
he  picked  it  up,  he  discovered  a  thimble  and  also  a 
needle-case  not  far  away. 

Having  taken  up  these  objects,  he  thought:  "I'll 
intrust  them  to  the  Mayor,"  and  he  resumed  his 
journey,  but  now  he  kept  his  eyes  open  expecting  to  find 
something  else. 

All  of  a  sudden,  he  drew  up  stiffly  as  if  he  had 
knocked  himself  against  a  wooden  bar;  for,  ten  paces  in 
front  of  him,  lay  stretched  on  her  back  a  little  girl,  quite 
naked,  on  the  moss.  She  was  about  twelve  years  old. 
Her  arms  were  hanging  down,  her  legs  parted,  and  her 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  289 

face  covered  with  a  handkerchief.  There  were  little 
spots  of  blood  on  her  thighs. 

Mederic  advanced  now  on  tiptoe,  as  if  he  were  afraid 
to  make  a  noise,  apprehended  some  danger,  and  he 
glanced  towards  the  spot  uneasily. 

What  was  this?  No  doubt,  she  was  asleep.  Then, 
he  reflected  that  a  person  does  not  go  to  sleep  thus 
naked,  at  half-past  seven  in  the  morning  under  cool 
trees.  So  then  she  must  be  dead;  and  he  must  be  face 
to  face  with  a  crime.  At  this  thought,  a  cold  shiver 
ran  through  his  frame,  although  he  was  an  old  soldier. 
And  then  a  murder  was  such  a  rare  thing  in  the  country, 
and  above  all  the  murcier  of  a  child,  that  he  could  not 
believe  his  eyes.  But  she  had  no  wound  —  nothing 
save  this  blood  stuck  on  her  leg.  How,  then,  had  she 
been  killed? 

He  stopped  quite  near  her;  and  he  stared  at  her,  while 
he  leaned  on  his  stick.  Certainly,  he  knew  her,  as  he 
knew  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  district;  but,  not  being 
able  to  get  a  look  at  her  face,  he  could  not  guess  her 
name.  He  stooped  forward  in  order  to  take  off  the 
handkerchief  which  covered  her  face,  then  paused  with 
outstretched  hand,  restrained  by  an  idea  that  occurred 
to  him.  J 

Had  he  the  right  to  disarrange  anything  In  the  con- 
dition of  the  corpse  before  the  magisterial  investiga- 
tion? He  pictured  justice  to  himself  as  a  kind  of  gen- 
eral whom  nothing  escapes,  and  who  attaches  as  much 
importance  to  a  lost  button  as  to  a  stab  of  a  knife  in  the 
stomach.  Perhaps  under  this  handkerchief  evidence  to 
support  a  capital  charge  could  be  found;  in  fact  If  there 
were  sufficient  proof  there  to  secure  a  conviction,  It 
might  lost  its  value,  If  touched  by  an  awkward  hand. 

V— 19 


290  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

'-  Then,  he  raised  himself  with  the  intention  of  hasten- 
ing towards  the  Mayor's  residence,  but  again  another 
thought  held  him  back.  If  the  little  girl  was  still  alive, 
by  any  chance,  he  could  not  leave  her  lying  there  in 
this  way.  He  sank  on  his  knees  very  gently,  a  little  bit 
away  from  her  through  precaution,  and  extended  his 
hand  towards  her  feet.  It  was  icy  cold,  with  the  terri- 
ble coldness  which  makes  the  dead  flesh  frightful,  and 
which  leaves  us  no  longer  in  doubt.  The  letter-carrier, 
as  he  touched  her,  felt  his  heart  in  his  mouth,  as  he  said 
to  himself  afterwards  and  his  lips  were  parched  with  dry 
spittle.  Rising  up  abruptly  he  rushed  off  under  the 
trees  towards  M.  Renardet's  house. 

\i  He  walked  on  in  double-quick  time,  with  his  stick 
under  his  arm,  his  hands  clenched,  and  his  head  thrust 
forward,  and  his  leathern  bag,  filled  with  letters  and 
newspapers,  kept  regularly  flapping  at  his  side. 

The  Mayor's  residence  was  at  the  end  of  the  wood 
which  he  used  as  a  park,  and  one  side  of  it  was  washed 
by  a  little  pool  formed  at  this  spot  by  the  Brindelle. 

It  was  a  big,  square  house  of  gray  stone,  very  old, 
which  had  stood  many  a  siege  in  former  days,  and  at 
the  end  of  it  was  a  huge  tower,  twenty  meters  high,  built 
in  the  water. 

From  the  top  of  this  fortress  the  entire  country 
around  it  could  be  seen  In  olden  times.  It  was  called 
the  Fox's  tower,  without  anyone  knowing  exactly  why; 
and  from  this  appellation,  no  doubt,  had  come  the  name 
Renardet,  borne  by  the  owners  of  this  fief,  which  had  re- 
mained in  the  same  family,  it  was  said,  for  more  than 
two  hundred  years.  For  the  Renardets  formed  part 
■of  the  upper  middle  class  all  but  noble  to  be  met  with 
so  often  in  the  provinces  before  the  Revolution. 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  291 

The  postman  dashed  Into  the  kitchen  where  the 
servants  were  taking  breakfast,  and  exclaimed : 

"Is  the  Mayor  up?  I  want  to  speak  to  him  at 
once." 

Mederic  was  recognized  as  a  man  of  weight  and 
authority,  and  it  was  soon  understood  that  something 
serious  had  happened. 

As  soon  as  word  was  brought  to  M.  Renardet,  he 
ordered  the  postman  to  be  sent  up  to  him.  Pale  and 
out  of  breath,  with  his  cap  In  his  hand,  Mederic  found 
the  Mayor  seated  in  front  of  a  long  table  covered  with 
scattered  papers. 

He  was  a  big,  tall  man,  heavy  and  red-faced,  strong 
as  an  ox  and  was  greatly  liked  In  the  district,  though  of 
an  excessively  violent  disposition.  Very  nearly  forty 
years  old,  and  a  widower  for  the  past  six  months,  he 
lived  on  his  estate  like  a  country  gentleman.  His 
choleric  temperament  had  often  brought  him  into  trou- 
ble, from  which  the  magistrates  of  Rouy-le-Tors,  like 
indulgent  and  prudent  friends,  had  extricated  him. 
Had  he  not  one  day  thrown  the  conductor  of  the 
diligence  from  the  top  of  his  seat  because  he  was  near 
crushing  his  retriever,  MIcmac?  Had  he  not  broken 
the  ribs  of  a  gamekeeper,  who  abused  him  for  having, 
with  a  gun  in  his  hand,  passed  through  a  neighbor's 
property?  Had  he  not  even  caught  by  the  collar  the 
sub-prefect,  who  stopped  In  the  village  In  the  course  of 
an  administrative  round  described  by  M.  Renardet  as 
an  electioneering  round;  for  he  was  against  the  govern- 
ment, according  to  his  family  tradition. 

The  Mayor  asked : 

*"  What's  the  matter  now,  Mederic?  " 
"  I  found  a  little  girl  dead  In  your  wood." 


292  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Renardet  rose  up,  with  his  face  the  color  of  brick. 

"  Do  you  say  —  a  little  girl?  " 

"  Yes,  m'sieur,  a  little  girl,  quite  naked,  on  her  back, 
with  blood  on  her,  dead  —  quite  dead!  " 

The  Mayor  gave  vent  to  an  oath : 

"  My  God,  I'd  make  a  bet  'tis  little  Louise  Roque! 
I  have  just  learned  that  she  did  not  go  home  to  her 
mother  last  night.     Where  did  you  find  her  ?  " 

The  postman  pointed  out  where  the  place  was,  gave 
full  details,  and  offered  to  conduct  the  Mayor  to  the 
spot. 

But  Renardet  became  brusque: 

"  No,  I  don't  need  you.  Send  the  steward,  the 
Mayor's  secretary,  and  the  doctor  immediately  to  me, 
and  resume  your  rounds.  Quick,  quick,  go  and  tell 
them  to  meet  me  in  the  woods." 

The  letter-carrier,  a  man  used  to  discipline,  obeyed 
and  withdrew,  angry  and  grieved  at  not  being  able  to  be 
present  at  the  investigation. 

The  Mayor,  in  his  turn,  prepared  to  go  out,  took  his 
hat,  a  big  soft  hat,  and  paused  for  a  few  seconds  on  the 
threshold  of  his  abode.  In  front  of  him  stretched  a 
wide  sward,  in  which  three  large  patches  were  con- 
spicuous —  three  large  beds  of  flowers  in  full  bloom, 
one  facing  the  house  and  the  others  at  either  side  of  it. 
Further  on,  rose  skyward  the  principal  trees  in  the  wood, 
while  at  the  left,  above  the  Brindelle  widened  into  a 
pool,  could  be  seen  long  meadows,  an  entirely  green  flat 
sweep  of  the  country,  cut  by  dikes  and  willow  edges  like 
monsters,  twisted  dwarf-trees,  always  cut  short,  and 
having  on  their  thick  squat  trunks  a  quivering  tuft  x)f 
thick  branches. 

At  the  right,  behind  the  stables,  the  outhouses,  all 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  293 

the  buildings  connected  with  the  property,  might  be  seen 
the  village,  which  was  wealthy,  being  mainly  inhabited 
by  rearers  of  oxen. 

Renardet  slowly  descended  the  steps  in  front  of  his 
house,  and  turning  to  the  left,  gained  the  water's  edge, 
which  he  followed  at  a  slow  pace,  his  hand  behind  his 
back.  He  went  on  with  bent  head,  and  from  time  to 
time  he  glanced  round  in  search  of  the  persons  for  whom 
he  had  sent. 

When  he  stood  beneath  the  trees,  he  stopped,  took 
off  his  hat,  and  wiped  his  forehead  as  Mederic  had  done; 
for  the  burning  sun  was  falling  in  fiery  v-a'm  upon  the 
ground.  Then  the  Mayor  resumed  his  journey, 
stopped  once  more,  and  retraced  his  steps.  Suddenly, 
stooping  down,  he  steeped  his  handkerchief  in  the 
stream  that  glided  at  his  feet,  and  stretched  it  round  his 
head,  under  his  hat.  Drops  of  water  flowed  along  his 
temples  over  his  ears  always  purple  over  his  strong 
red  neck,  and  made  their  way,  one  after  the  other, 
under  his  white  shirt-collar. 

As  nobody  yet  appeared  he  began  tapping  with  his 
foot,  then  he  called  out  — 
"Hallo!     Hallo!" 
A  voice  at  his  right,  answered : 
"Hallo!     Hallo!" 

And  the  doctor  appeared  under  the  trees.  He  v/as 
a  thin  little  man,  an  ex-military  surgeon,  who  passed  in 
the  neighborhood  for  a  very  skillful  practitioner.  He 
limped,  having  been  wounded  while  in  the  service,  and 
had  to  use  a  stick  to  assist  him  in  walking. 

Next  came  the  steward  and  the  Mayor's  secretary, 
who,  having  been  sent  for  at  the  same  time,  arrived 
together.     They  looked  scared,   and  hurried   forward 


294  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

out  of  breath,  walking  and  trotting  in  turn  In  order  to 
hasten  their  progress,  and  moving  their  arms  up  and 
down  so  vigorously  that  they  seemed  to  do  more  work 
with  them  than  with  their  legs. 

Renardet  said  to  the  doctor: 

"  You  know  what  the  trouble  is  about?  " 

"  Yes,  a  child  found  dead  in  the  wood  by  Mederic." 

"  That's  quite  correct.      Come  on." 

They  walked  on  side  by  side,  followed  by  the  two 
men. 

Their  steps  made  no  noise  on  the  moss,  their  eyes 
were  gazing  downward  right  in  front  of  them. 

The  doctor  hastened  his  steps,  interested  by  the  dis- 
covery. As  soon  as  they  were  near  the  corpse,  he 
bent  down  to  examine  it  without  touching  it.  He  had 
put  on  a  pair  of  glasses,  as  when  one  is  looking  at  some 
curious  object,  and  turned  round  very  quietly. 

He  said  without  rising  up: 

*'  Violated  and  assassinated,  as  we  are  going  to  prove 
presently.  This  little  girl  moreover,  is  almost  a 
woman  —  look  at  her  throat." 

Her  two  breasts,  already  nearly  full-developed,  fell 
over  her  chest,  relaxed  by  death. 

The  doctor  lightly  drew  away  the  handkerchief 
which  covered  her  face.  It  looked  black,  frightful,  the 
tongue  protruding,  the  eyes  bloodshot.      He  went  on : 

"  Faith,  she  was  strangled  the  moment  the  deed  was 
done." 

He  felt  her  neck: 

"  Strangled  with  the  hands  without  leaving  any 
special  trace,  neither  the  mark  of  the  nails  nor  the  Im- 
print of  the  fingers.  Quite  right.  It  is  little  Louise 
Roque,  sure  enough!  " 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  295 

He  delicately  replaced  the  handkerchief: 

"  There's  nothing  for  me  to  do  —  She's  been  dead 
for  the  last  hour  at  least.  We  must  give  notice  of  the 
matter  to  the  authorities." 

Renardet,  standing  up,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
kept  staring  with  a  stony  look  at  the  little  body  ex- 
posed to  view  on  the  grass.      He  murmured : 

"  What  a  wretch!     We  must  find  the  clothes." 

The  doctor  felt  the  hands,  the  arms,  the  legs.  He 
said: 

"  She  must  have  been  bathing,  no  doubt.  They 
ought  to  be  at  the  water's  edge." 

The  Mayor  thereupon  gave  directions: 

"Do  you,  Princepe  "  (this  was  his  secretary),  go 
and  look  for  those  clothes  for  me  along  the  river.  Do 
you,  Maxime  "  (this  was  the  steward),  "  hurry  on  to- 
wards Roug-le-Tors,  and  bring  on  here  to  me  the 
examining  magistrate  with  the  gendarmes.  They 
must  be  here  within  an  hour.     You  understand." 

The  two  men  quickly  departed,  and  Renardet  said 
tc  the  doctor: 

"  What  miscreant  has  been  able  to  do  such  a  deed  in 
this  part  of  the  country." 

The  doctor  murmured : 

"Who  knows?  Everyone  is  capable  of  that? 
Everyone  in  particular  and  nobody  in  general.  No 
matter,  it  must  be  some  prowler,  some  workman  out  of 
employment.  As  we  live  under  a  Republic,  we  must 
expect  to  meet  only  this  kind  of  person  along  the 
roads." 

Both  of  them  were  Bonapartists. 

The  Mayor  went  on  : 


296  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"  Yes,  it  can  only  be  a  stranger,  a  passer-by,  a  vaga- 
bond without  heart  or  home." 

The  doctor  added  with  the  shadow  of  a  smile  on  his 
face  : 

"  And  without  a  wife.  Having  neither  a  good  sup- 
per nor  a  good  bed,  he  procured  the  rest  for  himself. 
You  can't  tell  how  many  men  there  may  be  in  the  world 
capable  of  a  crime  at  a  given  moment.  Did  you  know 
that  this  little  girl  had  disappeared?  " 

And  with  the  end  of  his  stick  he  touched  one  after 
the  other  the  stiffened  fingers  of  the  corpse,  resting  on 
them  as  on  the  keys  of  a  piano. 

"  Yes,  the  mother  came  last  night  to  look  for  me 
about  nine  o'clock,  the  child  not  having  come  home 
from  supper  up  to  seven.  We  went  to  try  and  find  her 
along  the  roads  up  to  midnight,  but  we  did  not  think 
of  the  wood.  However,  we  needed  daylight  to  carry 
out  a  search  with  a  practical  result." 

"  Will  you  have  a  cigar?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Thanks,  I  don't  care  to  smoke.  It  gives  me  a  turn 
to  look  at  this." 

They  both  remained  standing  in  front  of  this  corpse 
of  a  young  girl,  so  pale,  on  the  dark  moss.  A  big  fly 
with  a  blue  belly  that  was  walking  along  one  of  the 
thighs,  stopped  at  the  bloodstains,  went  on  again,  al- 
ways rising  higher,  ran  along  the  side  with  his  lively, 
jerky  movements,  climbed  up  one  of  the  breasts,  then 
came  back  again  to  explore  the  other,  looking  out  for 
something  to  drink  on  this  dead  girl.  The  two  men 
kept  watching  this  wandering  black  speck. 

The  doctor  said: 

"  How  pretty  it  is,  a  fly  on  the  skin !     The  ladies  of 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  297 

the  last  century  had  good  reason  to  paste  them  on  their 
faces.      Why  has  this  fashion  gone  out?  " 

The  Mayor  seemed  not  to  hear,  plunged  as  he  was 
in  deep  thought. 

But,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  turned  round,  for  he  was 
surprised  by  a  shrill  noise.  A  woman  in  a  cap  and  a 
blue  apron  rushed  up  under  the  trees.  It  was  the 
mother,  La  Roque.  As  soon  as  she  saw  Renardet  she 
began  to  shriek: 

"  My  little  girl,  where's  my  little  girl?"  in  such  a 
distracted  manner  that  she  did  not  glance  down  at  the 
ground.  Suddenly,  she  saw  the  corpse,  stopped  short, 
clasped  her  hands,  and  raised  both  her  arms  while  she 
uttered  a  sharp,  heartrending  cry  —  the  cry  of  a  muti- 
lated animal.  Then  she  rushed  towards  the  body,  fell 
on  her  knees,  and  took  off,  as  if  she  would  have  snatched 
it  away,  the  handkerchief  that  covered  the  face.  When 
she  saw  that  frightful  countenance,  black  and  convulsed, 
she  rose  up  with  a  shudder,  then  pressed  her  face 
against  the  ground,  giving  vent  to  terrible  and  con- 
tinuous screams  with  her  mouth  close  to  the  thick  moss. 

Her  tall,  thin  frame,  to  which  her  clothes  were  cling- 
ing tightly,  was  palpitating,  shaken  with  convulsions. 
They  could  see  her  bony  ankles  and  her  dried  up  calves 
covered  with  thick  blue  stockings,  shivering  horribly; 
and  she  went  digging  the  soil  with  her  crooked  lingers 
as  if  in  order  to  make  a  hole  there  to  hide  herself  in  it. 

The  doctor  moved,  said  in  a  low  tone : 

"  Poor  old  woman  !  " 

Renardet  felt  a  strange  rumbling  in  his  stomach;  then 
he  gave  vent  to  a  sort  of  loud  sneeze  that  issued  at  the 
same  time  through  his  nose  and  through  his  mouth;  and, 


298  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

drawing  his  handlcerchief  from  his  pocket,  he  began  to 
weep  internally,  coughing,  sobbing,  and  wiping  his  face 
noisily. 

He  stammered  — 

"  Damn  —  damn  —  damned  pig  to  do  this !  I 
would  like  to  see  him  guillotined." 

But  Princepe  reappeared,  with  his  hands  empty. 
He  murmured  — 

"  I  have  found  nothing,  M'sieu  le  Maire,  nothing  at 
all  anywhere." 

The  doctor,  scared,  replied  in  a  thick  voice,  drowned 
in  tears : 

"  What  is  that  you  could  not  find?  " 

"  The  httle  girl's  clothes." 

"Well  —  well  —  look  again,  and  find  them  —  or 
you'll  have  to  answer  to  me." 

The  man,  knowing  that  the  Mayor  would  not  brook 
opposition,  set  forth  again  with  hesitating  steps,  cast- 
ing on  the  corpse  indirect  and  timid  glances. 

Distant  voices  arose  under  the  trees,  a  confused 
sound,  the  noise  of  an  approaching  crowd;  for  Mederic 
had,  in  the  course  of  his  rounds  carried  the  news  from 
door  to  door.  The  people  of  the  neighborhood,  stupe- 
fied at  first,  had  gone  chatting  from  their  own  firesides 
into  the  street,  from  one  threshold  to  another.  Then 
they  gathered  together.  They  talked  over,  discussed, 
and  commented  on  the  event  for  some  minutes,  and  they 
had  now  come  to  see  it  for  themselves. 

They  arrived  in  groups  a  little  faltering  and  uneasy 
through  fear  of  the  first  impression  of  such  a  scene  on 
their  minds.  When  they  saw  the  body  they  stopped, 
not  daring  to  advance,  and  speaking  low.  They  grew 
bold,  went  on  a  few  steps,  stopped  again,  advanced  once 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  299 

more,  and  soon  they  formed  around  the  dead  girl,  her 
mother,  the  doctor,  and  Renardet,  a  thick  circle,  agitated 
and  noisy,  which  crushed  forward  under  the  sudden 
pushes  of  the  last  comers.  iVnd  now  they  touched  the 
corpse.  Some  of  them  even  bent  down  to  feel  it  with 
their  fingers.  The  doctor  kept  them  back.  But  the 
mayor,  waking  abruptly  out  of  his  torpor,  broke  into 
a  rage,  and,  seizing  Dr.  Labarbe's  stick,  flung  himself  on 
his  townspeople,  stammering: 

"Clear  out  —  clear  out  —  you  pack  of  brutes  — 
clear  out!  " 

And  in  a  second,  the  crowd  of  sightseers  had  fallen 
back  two  hundred  meters. 

La  Roque  was  lifted  up,  turned  round,  and  placed  In 
a  sitting  posture,  and  she  now  remained  weeping  with 
her  hands  clasped  over  her  face. 

The  occurrence  was  discussed  among  the  crowd; 
and  young  lads'  eager  eyes  curiously  scrutinized  this 
naked  body  of  a  girl.  Renardet  perceived  this,  and 
abruptly  taking  off  his  vest,  he  flung  It  over  the  little 
girl,  who  was  entirely  lost  to  view  under  the  wide  gar- 
ment. 

The  spectators  drew  near  quietly.  The  wood  was 
filled  with  people,  and  a  continuous  hum  of  voices  rose 
up  under  the  tangled  foliage  of  the  tall  trees. 

The  Mayor,  In  his  shirt  sleeves,  remained  standing, 
with  his  stick  In  his  hands,  in  a  fighting  attitude.  He 
seemed  exasperated  by  this  curiosity  on  the  part  of  the 
people,  and  kept  repeating: 

"  If  one  of  you  come  nearer,  I'll  break  his  head  just 
as  I  would  a  dog's." 

The  peasants  were  greatly  afraid  of  him.  They 
held  back.       Dr.  Labarbe,  who  was  smoking,  sat  down 


300  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

beside  La  Roque,  and  spoke  to  her  in  order  to  distract 
her  attention.  The  old  woman  soon  removed  her  hands 
from  her  face,  and  she  replied  with  a  flood  of  tearful 
words,  emptying  her  grief  in  copious  talk.  She  told 
the  whole  story  of  her  life,  her  marriage,  the  death  of 
her  man,  a  bullsticker,  who  had  been  gored  to  death, 
the  infancy  of  her  daughter,  her  wretched  existence  as 
a  widow  without  resources  and  with  a  child  to  support. 
She  had  only  this  one,  her  little  Louise,  and  the  child 
had  been  killed  —  killed  in  this  wood.  All  of  a  sud- 
den, she  felt  anxious  to  see  It  again,  and  dragging  her- 
self on  her  knees  towards  the  corpse,  she  raised  up  one 
corner  of  the  garment  that  covered  her;  then  she  let  it 
fall  again,  and  began  wailing  once  more.  The  crowd 
remained  silent,  eagerly  watching  all  the  mother's  ges- 
tures. 

But  all  of  a  sudden,  a  great  swaying  movement  took 
place,  and  there  was  a  cry  of  "  the  gendarmes !  the 
gendarmes !  " 

The  gendarmes  appeared  in  the  distance,  coming  on 
at  a  rapid  trot,  escorting  their  captain  and  a  little  gen- 
tleman with  red  whiskers,  who  was  bobbing  up  and  down 
like  a  monkey  on  a  big  white  mare. 

The  steward  had  just  found  M.  Putoin,  the  examining 
magistrate,  at  the  moment  when  he  was  mounting  his 
horse  to  take  his  daily  ride,  for  he  posed  as  a  good 
horseman  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  officers. 

He  alighted  along  with  the  captain,  and  passed  the 
hands  of  the  Mayor  and  the  Doctor,  casting  a  ferret- 
like glance  on  the  linen  vest  which  swelled  above  the 
body  lying  underneath. 

When  he  was  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  facts, 
he  first  gave  orders  to  get  rid  of  the  public,  whom  the 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  301 

gendarmes  drove  out  of  the  wood,  but  who  soon  reap- 
peared in  the  meadow,  and  formed  a  hedge,  a  big 
hedge  of  excited  and  moving  heads  all  along  the  Brin- 
delle,  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream. 

The  doctor  in  his  turn,  gave  explanations,  of  which 
Renardet  took  a  note  in  his  memorandum  book.  All 
the  e\ndence  was  given,  taken  down,  and  commented  on 
without  leading  to  any  discovery.  Maxime,  too,  came 
back  without  having  found  any  trace  of  the  clothes. 

This  disappearance  surprised  everybody;  no  one 
could  explain  It  on  the  theory  of  theft,  and  as  these 
rags  were  not  worth  twenty  sous,  even  this  theory  was 
inadmissible. 

The  examining  magistrate,  the  mayor,  the  captain, 
and  the  doctor,  set  to  work  by  searching  in  pairs, 
putting  aside  the  smallest  branches  along  the  water. 

Renardet  said  to  the  judge: 

"  How  does  it  happen  that  this  wretch  has  concealed 
or  carried  away  the  clothes,  and  has  thus  left  the  body 
exposed  in  the  open  air  and  visible  to  everyone?  " 

The  other,  sly  and  knowing,  answered: 

"  Ha!  Ha!  Perhaps  a  dodge?  This  crime  has  been 
committed  either  by  a  brute  or  by  a  crafty  blackguard. 
In  any  case  we'll  easily  succeed  in  finding  him." 

The  rolling  of  a  vehicle  made  them  turn  their  heads 
round.  It  w^as  the  deputy  magistrate,  the  doctor  and 
the  registrar  of  the  court  who  had  arrived  in  their  turn. 
They  resumed  their  searches,  all  chatting  in  an  animated 
fashion. 

Renardet  said  suddenly: 

*'  Do  you  know  that  I  am  keeping  you  to  lunch  with 
me?" 

Everyone  smilingly  accepted  the  invitation,  and  the 


302  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

examining  magistrate,  finding  that  the  case  of  little 
Louise  Roque  was  quite  enough  to  bother  about  for  one 
day,  turned  towards  the  Mayor: 

"  I  can  have  the  body  brought  to  your  house,  can  I 
not  ?  You  have  a  room  in  which  you  can  keep  it  for  me 
till  this  evening." 

The  other  got  confused,  and  stammered: 

"  Yes  —  no  — no.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  prefer 
that  it  should  not  come  into  my  house  on  account  of  — 
on  account  of  my  servants  who  are  already  talking  about 
ghosts  in  —  in  my  tower,  in  the  Fox's  tower.  You 
know  —  I  could  no  longer  keep  a  single  one.  No  —  I 
prefer  not  to  have  it  in  my  house." 

The  magistrate  began  to  smile : 

"  Good!  I  am  going  to  get  it  carried  off  at  once  to 
Roug,  for  the  legal  examination." 

Turning  towards  the  door: 

"  I  can  make  use  of  your  trap  can  I  not?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

Everybody  came  back  to  the  place  where  the  corpse 
lay.  La  Roque  now,  seated  beside  her  daughter,  had 
caught  hold  of  her  head,  and  was  staring  right  before 
her,  with  a  wandering  listless  eye. 

The  two  doctors  endeavored  to  lead  her  away,  so  that 
she  might  not  witness  the  dead  girl's  removal;  but  she 
understood  at  once  what  they  wanted  to  do,  and,  fling- 
ing herself  on  the  body,  she  seized  it  in  both  arms. 
Lying  on  top  of  the  corpse,  she  exclaimed : 

"  You  shall  not  have  it  — 'tis  mine  — 'tis  mine  now. 
They  have  killed  her  on  me,  and  I  want  to  keep  her  — 
you  shall  not  have  her  — !  " 

All  the  men,  affected  and  not  knowing  how  to  act, 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQU£  303 

remained  standing  around  her.  Renardet  fell  on  his 
knees,  and  said  to  her: 

"  Listen,  La  Roque,  it  is  necessary  in  order  to  find 
out  who  killed  her.  Without  this,  it  could  not  be  found 
out.  We  must  make  a  search  for  him  in  order  to 
punish  him.  When  we  have  found  him,  we'll  giv^e  her 
up  to  you.      I  promise  you  this." 

This  explanation  shook  the  woman's  mind,  and  a  feel- 
ing of  hatred  manifested  itself  in  her  distracted  glance. 

"  So  then  they'll  take  him?  " 

*'  Yes,  I  promise  you  that." 

She  rose  up,  deciding  to  let  them  do  as  they  liked; 
but,  when  the  captain  remarked: 

"  'Tis  surprising  that  her  clothes  were  not  found." 

A  new  idea,  which  she  had  not  previously  thought 
of,  abruptly  found  an  entrance  into  her  brain,  and  she 
asked : 

"  Where  are  her  clothes.  They're  mine.  I  want 
them.     Where  have  they  been  put?  " 

They  explained  to  her  that  they  had  not  been  found. 
Then  she  called  out  for  them  with  desperate  obstinacy 
and  with  repeated  moans. 

"They're  mine  —  I  want  them.  Where  are  they? 
I  want  them!  " 

The  more  they  tried  to  calm  her  the  more  she 
sobbed,  and  persisted  in  her  demands.  She  no  longer 
wanted  the  body,  she  insisted  on  having  the  clothes,  as 
much  perhaps  through  the  unconscious  cupidity  of  a 
wretched  being  to  whom  a  piece  of  silver  represents  a 
fortune,  as  through  maternal  tenderness. 

And  when  the  Httle  body  rolled  up  in  blankets  which 
had  been  brought  out  from  Renardet's  house,  had  disap- 
peared in  the  vehicle,  the  old  woman  standing  under 


304  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

the  trees,  held  up  by  the  Mayor  and  the  Captain,  ex- 
claimed: 

"  I  have  nothing,  nothing,  nothing  in  the  world,  not 
even  her  little  cap  —  her  little  cap." 

The  cure  had  just  arrived,  a  young  priest  already 
growing  stout.  He  took  it  on  himself  to  carry  off  La 
Roque,  and  they  went  away  together  towards  the 
village.  The  mother's  grief  was  modified  under  the 
sugary  words  of  the  clergyman,  who  promised  her  a 
thousand  compensations.  But  she  incessantly  kept  re- 
peating: 

"  If  I  had  only  her  little  cap." 

Sticking  to  this  idea  which  now  dominated  every 
other. 

Renardet  exclaimed  some  distance  away: 
•"  You  lunch  with  us.  Monsieur  I'Abbe  —  in  an  hour's 
time." 

The  priest  turned  his  head  round,  and  replied: 

"  With  pleasure,  Monsieur  le  Maire.  Til  be  with 
you  at  twelve." 

And  they  all  directed  their  steps  towards  the  house 
whose  gray  front  and  large  tower  built  on  the  edge  of 
the  Brindelle,  could  be  seen  through  the  branches. 

The  meal  lasted  a  long  time.  They  talked  about  the 
crime.  Everybody  was  of  the  same  opinion.  It  had 
been  committed  by  some  tramp  passing  there  by  mere' 
chance  while  the  little  girl  was  bathing. 

Then  the  magistrates  returned  to  Roug,  announcing 
that  they  would  return  next  day  at  an  early  hour.  The 
doctor  and  the  cure  went  to  their  respective  homes,  while 
Renardet,  after  a  long  walk  through  the  meadows,  re- 
turned to  the  wood  where  he  remained  walking  till 
nightfall  with  slow  steps,  his  hands  behind  his  back. 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  305 

He  went  to  bed  early,  and  was  still  asleep  next  morn- 
ing when  the  examining  magistrate  entered  his  room. 
He  rubbed  his  hands  together  with  a  self-satished  air. 
He  said: 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  You're  still  sleeping.  Well,  my  dear  fel- 
low, we  have  news  this  morning." 

The  Mayor  sat  up  on  his  bed. 

"What,  pray?" 

"Oh!  Something  strange.  You  remember  well 
how  the  mother  yesterday  clamored  for  some  memento 
of  her  daughter,  especially  her  little  cap?  Well,  on 
opening  her  door  this  morning,  she  found  on  the 
threshold,  her  child's  two  little  wooden  shoes.  This 
proves  that  the  crime  was  perpetrated  by  some  one  from 
the  district,  som.e  one  who  felt  pity  for  her.  Besides, 
the  postman,  Mederic  comes  and  brings  the  thimble,  the 
knife  and  the  needle  case  of  the  dead  girl.  So  then 
the  man  in  carrying  off  the  clothes  in  order  to  hide  them, 
must  have  let  fall  the  articles  which  were  in  the  pocket. 
As  for  me,  I  attach  special  importance  about  the  wooden 
shoes,  as  they  indicate  a  certain  moral  culture  and  a 
faculty  for  tenderness  on  the  part  of  the  assassin.  We 
will  therefore,  if  I  have  no  objection,  pass  in  review 
together  the  principal  inhabitants  of  your  district." 

The  Mayor  got  up.  He  rang  for  hot  water  to  shave 
with,  and  said: 

"  With  pleasure,  but  it  will  take  rather  a  long  time, 
and  we  may  begin  at  once." 

M.  Putoin  had  sat  astride  on  a  chair,  thus  pursuing 
even  in  a  room,  his  mania  for  horsemanship. 

Renardet  now  covered  his  chin  with  a  white  lather 
while  he  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass;  then  he  sharp- 
ened his  razor  on  the  strop  and  went  on  : 
V— 20 


3o6  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"  The  principal  inhabitant  of  Carvelin  bears  the  name 
of  Joseph  Renardet,  Mayor,  a  rich  landowner,  a  rough 
man  who  beats  guards  and  coachmen — " 

The  examining  magistrate  burst  out  laughing: 

"  That's  enough;  let  us  pass  on  to  the  next." 

"  The  second  in  importance  is  ill.  Pelledent,  his 
deputy,  a  rearer  of  oxen,  an  equally  rich  landowner,  a 
crafty  peasant,  very  sly,  very  close-fisted  on  every  ques- 
tion of  money,  but  incapable  in  my  opinion,  of  having 
perpetrated  such  a  crime." 

M.  Putoin  said: 

"  Let  us  pass  on." 

Then,  while  continuing  to  shave  and  wash  himself, 
Renardet  went  on  with  the  moral  inspection  of  all  the 
inhabitants  of  Carvelin.  After  two  hours'  discussion, 
their  suspicions  were  fixed  on  three  individuals  who  had 
hitherto  borne  a  shady  reputation  —  a  poacher  named 
Cavalle,  a  fisher  for  trails  and  crayfish  named  Paquet, 
and  a  bullsticker  named  Clovls. 

PART  II 

The  search  for  the  perpetrator  of  the  crime  lasted 
all  the  summer,  but  he  was  not  discovered.  Those  who 
were  suspected  and  those  who  were  arrested  easily 
proved  their  innocence,  and  the  authorities  were  com- 
pelled to  abandon  the  attempt  to  capture  the  criminal. 

But  this  murder  seemed  to  have  moved  the  entire 
country  in  a  singular  fashion.  There  redisquietude,  a 
vague  fear,  a  sensation  of  mysterious  terror,  springing 
not  merely  from  the  impossibility  of  discovering  any 
trace  of  the  assassin,  but  also  and  above  all  from  that 
strange  finding  of  the  wooden  shoes  in   front  of  La 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  307 

Roque's  door  on  the  day  after  the  crime.  The  cer- 
tainty that  the  murderer  had  assisted  at  the  investiga- 
tion, that  he  was  still  living  in  the  village  without  doubt, 
left  a  gloomy  impression  on  people's  minds,  and  ap- 
peared to  brood  over  the  neighborhood  like  an  incessant 
menace. 

The  wood  besides,  had  become  a  dreaded  spot, 
a  place  to  be  avoided,  and  supposed  to  be  haunted. 

Formerly,  the  inhabitants  used  to  come  and  sit  down 
on  the  moss  at  the  feet  of  the  huge  tall  trees,  or  walk 
along  the  water's  edge  watching  the  trouts  gliding  under 
the  green  undergrowth.  The  boys  used  to  play  bowls, 
hide-and-seek  and  other  games  in  certain  places  where 
they  had  upturned,  smoothed  out,  and  leveled  the  soil, 
and  the  girls,  in  rows  of  four  or  five,  used  to  trip  along 
holding  one  another  by  the  arms,  and  screaming  out 
with  their  shrill  voices  ballads  which  grated  on  the 
ear,  and  whose  false  notes  disturbed  the  tranquil  air  and 
set  the  teeth  on  edge  like  drops  of  vinegar.  Now  no- 
body went  any  longer  under  the  wide  lofty  vault,  as  if 
people  were  afraid  of  always  finding  there  some  corpse 
lying  on  the  ground. 

Autumn  arrived,  the  leaves  began  to  fall.  They  fell 
down  day  and  night,  descended  from  the  tall  trees, 
round  and  round  whirling  to  the  ground;  and  the  sky 
could  be  seen  through  the  bare  branches.  Sometimes 
when  a  gust  of  wind  swept  over  the  tree-tops,  the  slow, 
continuous  rain  suddenly  grew  heavier,  and  became  a 
storm  with  a  hoarse  roar,  which  covered  the  moss  with 
a  thick  carpet  of  yellow  water  that  made  rather  a 
squashing  sound  under  the  feet.  And  the  almost  im- 
perceptible murmur,  the  floating,  ceaseless  murmur  gen- 
tle and  sad,  of  this  rainfall  seemed  like  a  low  wail,  and 


3o8  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

those  leaves  continually  falling,  seemed  like  tears,  big 
tears  shed  by  the  tall  mournful  trees  which  were  weep- 
ing, as  it  were,  day  and  night  over  the  close  of  the  year, 
ov^er  the  ending  of  warm  dawns  and  soft  twilights,  over 
the  ending  of  hot  breezes  and  bright  suns,  and  also 
perhaps  over  the  crime  which  they  had  seen  committed 
under  the  shade  of  their  branches,  over  the  girl  violated 
and  killed  at  their  feet.  They  wept  In  the  silence  of 
the  desolate  empty  wood,  the  abandoned,  dreaded  wood, 
where  the  soul,  the  childish  soul  of  the  dead  little  girl 
must  be  wandering  all  alone. 

The  Brindelle,  swollen  by  the  storms,  rushed  on  more 
quickly,  yellow  and  angry,  between  its  dry  banks,  be- 
tween two  thin,  bare  willow-hedges. 

And  here  was  Renardet  suddenly  resumiing  his  walks 
under  the  trees.  Every  day,  at  sunset,  he  came  out  of 
his  house  decended  the  front  steps  slowly,  and  entered 
the  wood,  in  a  dreamy  fashion  with  his  hands  In  his 
pockets.  For  a  long  time  he  paced  over  the  damp  soft 
moss,  while  a  legion  of  rooks,  rushing  to  the  spot  from 
all  the  neighboring  haunts  In  order  to  rest  In  the  tall 
summits,  unrolled  themselves  through  space,  like  an  Im- 
mense mourning  veil  floating  In  the  wind,  uttering 
violent  and  sinister  screams.  Sometimes,  they  rested, 
dotting  with  black  spots  the  tangled  branches  against  the 
red  sky,  the  sky  crimsoned  with  autumn  twilights. 
Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  they  set  again,  croaking  fright- 
fully and  trailing  once  more  above  the  wood  the  long 
dark  festoon  of  their  flight. 

They  swooped  down  at  last,  on  the  highest  treetops, 
and  gradually  their  cawings  died  away  while  the  advanc- 
ing night  mingled  their  black  plumes  with  the  blackness 
of  space. 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  309 

Renardet  was  still  strolling  slowly  under  the  trees; 
then,  when  the  thick  darkness  prevented  him  from 
walking  any  longer,  he  went  back  to  the  house,  sank  all 
of  a  heap  into  his  armchair  in  front  of  the  glowing 
hearth,  stretching  towards  the  fire  his  damp  feet  from 
which  for  some  time  under  the  flames  vapor  emanated. 

Now,  one  morning,  an  important  bit  of  news  was  cir- 
culated around  the  district;  the  Mayor  was  getting  his 
wood  cut  down. 

Twenty  woodcutters  were  already  at  M'ork.  They 
had  commenced  at  the  corner  nearest  to  the  house,  and 
they  worked  rapidly  in  the  master's  presence. 

At  first,  the  loppers  climbed  up  the  trunk.  Tied  to 
it  by  a  rope  collar,  they  cling  round  in  the  beginning  with 
both  arms,  then,  lifting  one  leg,  they  strike  it  hard  with 
a  blow  of  the  edge  of  a  steel  instrument  attached  to  each 
foot.  The  edge  penetrates  the  wood,  and  remains 
stuck  in  it;  and  the  man  rises  up  as  if  on  a  step  in  order 
to  strike  with  the  steel  attached  to  the  other  foot,  and 
once  more  supports  himself  till  he  lifts  his  first  foot 
again. 

And  with  every  upward  movement  he  raises  higher 
the  rope  collar  which  fastens  him  to  the  tree.  Over  his 
loins,  hangs  and  glitters  the  steel  hatchet.  He  keeps 
continually  clinging  on  in  an  easy  fashion  like  a 
parasitic  creature  attacking  a  giant;  he  mounts  slowly 
up  the  immense  trunk,  embracing  It  and  spurring  It  In 
order  to  decapitate  It. 

As  soon  as  he  reaches  the  first  branches,  he  stops, 
detaches  from  his  side  the  sharp  ax,  and  strikes. 
He  strikes  slowly,  methodically,  cutting  the  limb  close 
to  the  trunk,  and,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  branch  cracks, 
gives  away,  bends,  tears  Itself  oft,  and  falls  down  graz- 


3IO  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ing  the  neighboring  trees  in  its  fall.  Then,  it  crashes 
down  on  the  ground  with  a  great  sound  of  broken  wood, 
and  Its  slighter  branches  keep  quivering  for  a  long 
time. 

The  soil  was  covered  with  fragments  which  other 
men  cut  in  their  turn,  bound  in  bundles,  and  piled  in 
heaps,  while  the  trees  which  were  still  left  standing 
seemed  like  enormous  posts,  gigantic  forms  amputated 
and  shorn  by  the  keen  steel  of  the  cutting  instruments. 

And  when  the  lopper  had  finished  his  task,  he  left  at 
the  top  of  the  straight  slender  shaft  of  the  tree  the  rope 
collar  which  he  had  brought  up  with  him,  and  after- 
wards descends  again  with  spurlike  prods  along  the  dis- 
crowned trunk,  which  the  woodcutters  thereupon  at- 
tacked at  the  base,  striking  it  with  great  blows  which 
resounded  through  all  the  rest  of  the  wood. 

When  the  foot  seemed  pierced  deeply  enough, 
some  men  commenced  dragging  to  the  accompaniment 
of  a  cry  in  which  they  joined  harmoniously,  at  the  rope 
attached  to  the  top;  and,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  immense 
mast  cracked  and  tumbled  to  the  earth  with  the  dull 
sound  and  shock  of  a  distant  cannon-shot. 

And  each  day  the  wood  grew  thinner,  losing  its  trees 
which  fell  down  one  by  one,  as  an  army  loses  its 
soldiers. 

Renardet  no  longer  walked  up  and  down.  He  re- 
mained from  morning  till  night,  contemplating,  motion- 
less, and  with  his  hands  behind  his  back  the  slow  death 
of  his  wood.  When  a  tree  fell,  he  placed  his-  foot  on 
it  as  if  it  were  a  corpse.  Then  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
next  with  a  kind  of  secret,  calm  impatience,  as  if  he  had 
expected,  hoped  for,  something  at  the  end  of  this 
massacre. 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  311 

Meanwhile,  they  v\'ere  approaching  the  place  where 
little  Louise  Roque  had  been  found.  At  length,  they 
came  to  it  one  evening,  at  the  hour  of  twilight. 

As  it  was  dark,  the  sky  being  overcast,  the  wood- 
cutters wanted  to  stop  their  work,  putting  off  till  next 
day  the  fall  of  an  enormous  beech-tree,  but  the  master 
objected  to  this,  and  insisted  that  even  at  this  hour  they 
should  lop  and  cut  down  this  giant,  which  had  over- 
shadowed the  crime. 

When  the  lopper  had  laid  it  bare,  had  finished  its 
toilets  for  the  guillotine,  when  the  woodcutters  were 
about  to  sap  its  base,  five  men  commenced  hauling  at  the 
rope  attached  to  the  top. 

The  tree  resisted;  its  powerful  trunk,  although 
notched  up  to  the  middle  was  as  rigid  as  iron.  The 
workmen,  altogether,  with  a  sort  of  regular  jump, 
strained  at  the  rope,  stooping  down  to  the  ground,  and 
they  gave  vent  to  a  cry  with  throats  out  of  breath,  so 
as  to  indicate  and  direct  their  efforts. 

Two  woodcutters  standing  close  to  the  giant,  re- 
mained with  axes  in  their  grip,  like  two  executioners 
ready  to  strike  once  more,  and  Renardet,  motionless, 
with  his  hand  on  the  bark,  awaited  the  fall  with  an  un- 
easy, nervous  feeling. 

One  of  the  men  said  to  him : 

"  You're  too  near,  Monsieur  le  Maire.  When  it 
falls,  it  may  hurt  you." 

He  did  not  reply  and  did  not  recoil.  He  seemed 
ready  himself  to  catch  the  beech-tree  in  his  open  arms 
in  order  to  cast  it  on  the  ground  like  a  wrestler. 

All  at  once,  at  the  foot  of  the  tall  column  of  wood 
there  was  a  rent  which  seemed  to  run  to  the  top,  like 
a  painful  shake;  and  it  bent  slightly,  ready  to  fall,  but 


312  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

still  resisting.  The  men,  in  a  state  of  excitement,  stiff- 
ened their  arms,  renewed  their  efforts  with  greater  vigor, 
and,  just  as  the  tree,  breaking,  came  crashing  down, 
Renardet  suddenly  made  forward  step,  then  stopped, 
his  shoulders  raised  to  receive  the  irresistible  shock,  the 
mortal  shock  which  would  crush  him  on  the  earth. 

But  the  beech-tree,  having  deviated  a  little,  only 
rubbed  against  his  loins,  throwing  him  on  his  face  five 
meters  away. 

The  workmen  dashed  forward  to  lift  him  up.  He 
had  already  risen  to  his  knees,  stupefied,  with  wander- 
ing eyes,  and  passing  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  as 
if  he  were  awaking  out  of  an  attack  of  madness. 

When  he  had  got  to  his  feet  once  more,  the  men, 
astonished,  questioned  him,  not  being  able  to  understand 
what  he  had  done.  He  replied,  in  faltering  tones,  that 
he  had  had  for  a  moment  a  fit  of  abstraction,  or  rather 
a  return  to  the  days  of  his  childhood,  that  he  imagined 
he  had  to  pass  his  time  under  a  tree,  just  as  street-boys 
rush  in  front  of  vehicles  driving  rapidly  past,  that  he 
had  played  at  danger,  that,  for  the  past  eight  days,  he 
felt  this  desire  growing  stronger  within  him,  asking 
himself  whether,  every  time  one  was  cracking,  so  as  to 
be  on  the  point  of  falling,  he  could  pass  beneath  it  with- 
out being  touched.  It  was  a  piece  of  stupidity  he  con- 
fessed; but  everyone  has  these  moments  of  insanity,  and 
these  temptations  towards  boyish  folly. 

He  made  this  explanation  in  a  slow  tone,  searching 
for  his  words,  and  speaking  in  a  stupefied  fashion. 

Then,  he  went  off,  saying: 

"  Till  to-morrow,  my  friends  —  till  to-morrow." 

As  soon  as  he  had  got  back  to  his  room,  he  sat  down 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  313 

before  his  table,  which  his  lamp,  covered  with  a  shade, 
lighted  up  brightly,  and,  clasping  his  hands  over  his 
forehead,  be  began  to  cry. 

He  remained  crying  for  a  long  time,  then  wiped  his 
eyes,  raised  his  head,  and  looked  at  the  clock.  It  was 
not  yet  six  o'clock. 

He  thought: 

"  I  have  time  before  dinner." 

And  he  went  to  the  door  and  locked  it.  He  then 
came  back,  and  sat  down  before  his  table.  He  pulled 
out  a  drawer  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  taking  from  it  a 
revolver,  laid  it  down  over  his  papers,  under  the  glare 
of  the  sun.  The  barrel  of  the  fire-arm  glittered  and 
cast  reflections  which  resembled  flames. 

Renardet  gazed  at  it  for  some  time  with  the  uneasy 
glance  of  a  drunken  man;  then  he  rose  by,  and  began 
to  pace  up  and  down  the  room. 

He  walked  from  one  end  of  the  apartment  to  the 
other,  and  stopped  from  time  to  time  and  started  to 
pace  up  and  down  again  a  moment  afterwards.  Sud- 
denly, he  opened  the  door  of  his  dressing  room, 
steeped  a  napkin  in  a  water-jug  and  moistened  his  fore- 
head, as  he  had  done  on  the  morning  of  the  crime. 

Then  he  went  walking  up  and  down  once  more. 
Each  time  he  passed  the  table  the  gleaming  revolver 
attracted  his  glance,  tempted  his  hand;  but  he  kept 
vratching  the  clock,  and  reflected: 

"  I  have  still  time." 

It  struck  half-past  six.  Then  he  took  up  the  revolv- 
er, opened  his  mouth  wide  w'ith  a  frightful  grimace, 
and  stuck  the  barrel  into  it,  as  if  he  wanted  to  swallow 
it.      He   remained   in   this   position    for  some     seconds 


314  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

without  moving,  his  finger  on  the  lock,  then,  suddenly, 
seized  with  a  shudder  of  horror,  he  dropped  the  pistol 
on  the  carpet. 

And  he  fell  back  on  his  arm-chair,  sobbing : 

"I    can't.      I    dare    not!      My    God!      My    God! 
How  can  I  have  the  courage  to  kill  myself?  " 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  He  rose  up  in  a 
stupefied  condition.     A  servant  said : 

"  Monsieur's  dinner  is  ready." 

He  replied: 

"  All  right.      I'm  going  down." 

Then  he  picked  up  the  revolver,  locked  it  up  again  in 
the  drawer,  then  he  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass  over 
the  mantelpiece  to  see  whether  his  face  did  not  look  too 
much  convulsed.  It  was  as  red  as  usual,  a  little  redder 
perhaps.  That  was  all.  He  went  down,  and  seated 
himself  before  the  table. 

He  ate  slowly,  like  a  man  who  wants  to  drag  on  the 
meal,  who  does  not  want  to  be  alone  with  himself. 

Then  he  smoked  several  pipes  in  the  hall  while  the 
plates  were  being  removed.  After  that,  he  went  back 
to  his  room. 

As  soon  as  he  was  shut  up  in  it,  he  looked  under  his 
bed,  opened  all  his  cupboards,  explored  every  corner, 
rummaged  through  all  the  furniture.  Then  he  lighted 
the  tapers  over  the  mantelpiece,  and,  turning  round 
several  times,  ran  his  eye  all  over  the  apartment  with  an 
anguish  of  terror  that  made  his  face  lose  its  color,  for 
he  knew  well  that  he  was  going  to  see  her,  as  on  every 
night  —  Little  Louise  Roque,  the  little  girl  he  had 
violated  and  afterwards  strangled. 

Every  night  the  odious  vision  came  back  again. 
First,  it  sounded  in  his  ears  like  a  kind  of  snorting  suck 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  315 

as  is  made  by  a  threshing  machine  or  the  distant  pas- 
sage of  a  train  over  a  bridge.  Then  he  commenced 
to  pant,  to  feel  suffocated,  and  he  had  to  unbutton 
his  shirt-collar  and  his  belt.  He  moved  about 
to  make  his  blood  circulate,  he  tried  to  read,  he  at- 
tempted to  sing.  It  was  in  vain.  His  thoughts,  in 
spite  of  himself,  went  back  to  the  day  of  the  m.urder, 
and  made  him  begin  it  all  over  again  in  all  its  most 
secret  details,  with  all  the  violent  emotions  he  had  ex- 
perienced from  the  first  minute  to  the  last. 

He  had  felt  on  rising  up  that  morning,  the  morning 
of  the  horrible  day,  a  little  stupefaction  and  dizziness 
which  he  attributed  to  the  heat,  so  that  he  remained  in 
his  room  till  the  time  came  for  breakfast. 

After  the  meal  he  had  taken  a  siesta,  then,  towards 
the  close  of  the  afternoon,  he  had  gone  out  to  breathe 
the  fresh,  soothing  breeze  under  the  trees  in  the  wood. 

But,  as  soon  as  they  were  outside,  the  heavy,  scorch- 
ing air  of  the  plain  oppressed  him  more.  The  sun,  still 
high  in  the  heavens,  poured  out  on  the  parched  soil, 
dry  and  thirsty,  floods  of  ardent  light.  Not  a  breath 
of  wind  stirred  the  leaves.  Every  beast  and  bird,  even 
the  grasshoppers,  were  silent.  Renardet  reached  the 
tall  trees,  and  began  to  walk  over  the  moss  where  the 
Brindelle  sent  forth  a  slight,  cool  vapor  under  the  im- 
mense roof  of  trees.  But  he  felt  ill  at  ease.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  an  unknown,  invisible  hand,  was 
squeezing  his  neck,  and  he  scarcely  thought  of  anything, 
having  usually  few  ideas  in  his  head.  For  the  last  three 
months,  only  one  thought  haunted  him,  the  thought  of 
marrying  again.  He  suffered  from  living  alone,  suf- 
fered from  it  morally  and  physically.  Accustomed  for 
ten  years  past  to  feeling  a  woman  near  him,  habituated 


3i6  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

to  her  presence  every  moment,  to  her  embrace  each  suc- 
cessive day,  he  had  need,  an  imperious  and  perplexing 
need  of  incessant  contact  with  her  and  the  regular  touch 
of  her  lips.  Since  Madame  Renardet's  death,  he  had 
suffered  continually  without  knowing  why,  he  had  suf- 
fered from  not  feeling  her  dress  brush  against  his  legs 
every  day,  and,  above  all,  from  no  longer  being  able  to 
grow  calm  and  languid  between  her  arms.  He  had 
been  scarcely  six  months  a  widower,  and  he  had  already 
been  looking  out  through  the  district  for  some  young 
girl  or  some  widow  he  might  marry  when  his  period  of 
marrying  was  at  an  end. 

He  had  a  chaste  soul,  but  it  was  lodged  in  a  power- 
ful Herculean  body,  and  carnal  images  began  to  disturb 
his  sleep  and  his  vigils.  He  drove  them  away;  they 
came  back  again;  and  he  murmured  from  time  to  time, 
smiling  at  himself: 

"  Here  I  am,  like  St.  Antony." 

Having  had  this  morning  several  besetting  visions, 
the  desire  suddenly  came  Into  his  breast  to  bathe  in  the 
Brindelle  In  order  to  refresh  himself  and  appease  the 
ardor  of  his  heat. 

He  knew,  a  little  further  on,  a  large  deep  spot  where 
the  people  of  the  neighborhood  came  sometimes  to  take 
a  dip  in  summer.      He  went  there. 

Thick  willow  trees  hid  this  clear  volume  of  water 
where  the  current  rested  and  went  to  sleep  for  a  little 
while  before  starting  Its  way  again.  Renardet,  as  he 
appeared,  thought  he  heard  a  light  sound,  a  faint  smell 
which  was  not  that  of  the  stream  on  the  banks.  He 
softly  put  aside  the  leaves  and  looked.  A  little  girl, 
quite  naked  In  the  transparent  water,  was  beating  the 
waves  with  both  hands,  dancing  about  In  them  a  little 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  317 

and  dipping  herself  with  pretty  movements.  She  was 
not  a  child  nor  was  she  yet  a  woman.  She  was  plump 
and  formed,  while  preserving  an  air  of  youthful  pre- 
cocity, as  of  one  who  had  grown  rapidly,  and  who  was 
now  almost  ripe.  He  no  longer  moved,  overcome  with 
surprise,  with  a  pang  of  desire,  holding  his  breath  with 
a  strange  poignant  emotion.  He  remained  there,  his 
heart  beating  as  if  one  of  his  sensual  dreams  had  just 
been  realized,  as  if  an  impure  fairy  had  conjured  up  be- 
fore him.  this  creature  so  disturbing  to  his  blood,  so  very 
young  this  little  rustic  Venus,  was  born  in  the  waves  of 
the  sea. 

Suddenly  the  little  girl  came  out  of  the  water,  and 
without  seeing  came  over  to  where  he  stood  looking  for 
her  clothes  in  order  to  dress  herself.  While  she  was 
gradually  approaching  with  little  hesitating  steps, 
through  fear  of  the  sharp  pointed  stones,  he  felt  himself 
pushed  towards  her  by  an  irresistible  force,  by  a  bestial 
transport  of  passion,  which  stirred  up  all  his  flesh, 
stupefied  his  soul,  and  made  him  tremble  from  head 
to  foot. 

She  remained  standing  some  seconds  behind  the  wil- 
low tree  which  concealed  him  from  view.  Then,  losing 
his  reason  entirely,  he  opened  the  branches,  rushed  on 
her,  and  seized  her  in  his  arms.  She  fell,  too  scared  to 
offer  any  resistance,  too  much  terror-stricken  to  cry  out, 
and  he  possessed  her  without  understanding  what  he  was 
doing. 

He  woke  up  from  his  crime,  as  one  wakes  out  of  a 
nightmare.      The  child  burst  out  weeping. 

He  said: 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  Hold  your  tongue  !  I'll  give 
you  money." 


3i8  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

But  she  did  not  hear  him,  she  went  on  sobbing. 

He  went  on : 

"  Come  now,  hold  your  tongue !  Do  hold  your 
tongue.      Keep  quiet." 

She  still  kept  shrieking,  writhing  in  the  effort  to  get 
away  from  him.  He  suddenly  realized  that  he  was 
ruined,  and  he  caught  her  by  the  neck  to  stop  her  mouth 
from  uttering  these  heartrending,  dreadful  screams. 
As  she  continued  to  struggle  with  the  desperate  strength 
of  a  being  who  is  seeking  to  fly  from  death,  he  pressed 
his  enormous  hands  on  the  little  throat  swollen  with 
cries,  and  in  a  few  seconds  he  had  strangled  her  so 
furiously  did  he  grip  her,  without  intending  to  kill  her 
but  only  to  make  her  keep  silent. 

Then  he  rose  up  overwhelmed  with  horror. 

She  lay  before  him  with  her  face  bleeding  and  black- 
ened. He  was  going  to  rush  away  when  there  sprang 
up  in  his  agitated  soul  the  mysterious  and  undefined  in- 
stinct that  guides  all  beings  in  the  hour  of  danger. 

It  was  necessary  to  throw  the  body  into  the  water;  but 
another  impulse  drove  him  towards  the  clothes,  of  which 
he  made  a  thin  parcel.  Then  as  he  had  a  piece  of 
twine  In  his  pocket,  he  tied  it  up  and  hid  it  in  a  deep 
portion  of  the  stream,  under  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  the 
foot  of  which  was  steeped  in  the  Brindelle. 

Then  he  went  off  at  a  rapid  pace,  reached  the 
meadows,  took  a  wide  turn  in  order  to  show  himself 
to  some  peasants  who  dwelt  some  distance  away  at  the 
opposite  side  of  the  district,  and  he  came  back  to  dine 
at  the  usual  hour,  and  told  his  servants  all  that  was  sup- 
posed to  have  happened  during  his  walk. 

He  slept,  however,  that  night;  he  slept  with  a  heavy 
brutish  sleep,  such  as  the  sleep  of  persons  condemned  to 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  3^9 

death  must  be  occasionally.  He  only  opened  his  eyes 
at  the  hrst  glimmer  of  dawn,  and  he  waited,  tortured 
by  the  fear  of  having  his  crime  discovered,  for  his  usual 
waking  hour. 

Then  he  would  have  to  be  present  at  all  the  stages 
of  the  inquiry  as  to  the  cause  of  death.  He  did  so 
after  the  fashion  of  a  somnambulist,  in  a  hallucination 
which  showed  him  things  and  human  beings  in  a  sort  of 
dream,  in  a  cloud  of  intoxication,  in  that  dubious  sense 
of  unreality  which  perplexes  the  mind  at  the  time  of  the 
greatest  catastrophe. 

The  only  thing  that  pierced  his  heart  was  La  Roque's 
crv  of  anguish.      At  that  moment  he  felt  inclined  to  cast 
himself  at  the  old  w^oman's  feet,  and  to  exclaim  — 
"  'Tis  I." 

But  he  restrained  himself.  He  went  back,  however, 
during  the  night,  to  fish  up  the  dead  girl's  wooden  shoes, 
in  order  to  carry  them  to  her  mother's  threshold. 

As  long  as  the  inquiry  lasted,  as  long  as  it  was  neces- 
sary to  guide  and  aid  justice,  he  was  calm,  master  of 
himself,  sly  and  smiling.  He  discussed  quietly  with  the 
magistrates  all  the  suppositions  that  passed  through 
their  minds,  combated  their  opinions,  and  demolished 
their  arguments.  He  even  took  a  keen  and  mournful 
pleasure  in  disturbing  their  investigations,  in  embroil- 
ing their  ideas  in  showing  the  innocence  of  those  whom 
they  suspected. 

But  from  the  day  when  the  inquiry  came  to  a  close  he 
became  gradually  nervous,  more  excitable  still  than  ho 
had  been  before,  although  he  mastered  his  irritability. 
Sudden  noises  made  him  jump  up  with  fear;  he  shud- 
dered at  the  slightest  thing,  trembled  sometimes  from 
head  to  foot  when  a  fly  alighted  on  his  forehead.     Then 


320  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

he  was  seized  with  an  imperious  desire  for  move- 
ment, which  compelled  him  to  keep  continually  on  foot, 
and  made  him  remain  up  whole  nights  walking  to  and 
fro  in  his  own  room. 

It  was  not  that  he  was  goaded  by  remorse.  His 
brutality  did  not  lend  itself  to  any  shade  of  sentiment  or 
of  moral  terror.  A  man  of  energy  and  even  of  violence, 
born  to  make  war,  to  ravage  conquered  countries  and 
to  massacre  the  vanquished,  full  of  the  savage  Instincts 
of  the  hunter  and  the  fighter,  he  scarcely  took  count  of 
human  life.  Though  he  respected  the  church  through 
policy,  he  believed  neither  in  God  nor  in  the  devil,  ex- 
pecting consequently  in  another  life  neither  chastisement 
nor  recompense  for  his  acts.  As  his  sole  belief,  he  re- 
tained a  vague  philosophy  composed  of  all  the  ideas  of 
the  encyclopedists  of  the  last  century;  and  he  regarded 
religion  as  a  moral  sanction  of  the  law,  the  one  and  the 
other  having  been  invented  by  men  to  regulate  social 
relations.  To  kill  anyone  In  a  duel,  or  in  war,  or  in  a 
quarrel,  or  by  accident,  or  for  the  sake  of  revenge,  or 
even  through  bravado,  would  have  seemed  to  him  an 
amusing  and  clever  thing,  and  would  not  have  left  more 
impression  on  his  mind  than  a  shot  fired  at  a  hare;  but 
he  had  experienced  a  profound  emotion  at  the  murder 
of  this  child.  He  had.  In  the  first  place,  perpetrated 
it  In  the  distraction  of  an  Irresistible  gust  of  passion,  in 
a  sort  of  spiritual  tempest  that  had  overpowered  his 
reason.  And  he  had  cherished  In  his  heart,  cherished 
In  his  flesh,  cherished  on  his  lips,  cherished  even  to  the 
very  tips  of  his  murderous  fingers,  a  kind  of  bestial  lov^e, 
as  well  as  a  feeling  of  crushing  horror,  towards  this 
little  girl  surprised  by  him  and  basely  killed.  Every 
moment  his  thoughts  returned  to  that  horrible  scene, 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  321 

and,  though  he  endeavored  to  drive  away  this  picture 
from  his  mind,  though  he  put  it  aside  with  terror,  with 
disgust,  he  felt  it  surging  through  his  soul,  moving  about 
in  him,  waiting  incessantly  for  the  moment  to  reappear. 

Then,  in  the  night,  he  was  afraid,  afraid  of  the 
shadow  falling  around  him.  He  did  not  yet  icnow  why 
the  darkness  seemed  to  seem  frightful  to  him;  but  he 
instinctively  feared  it,  he  felt  that  it  was  peopled  with 
terrors.  The  bright  daylight  did  not  lend  itself  to 
fears.  Things  and  beings  were  seen  there,  and  so 
there  were  only  to  be  met  there  natural  things  and  be- 
ings which  could  exhibit  themselves  in  the  light  of  day. 
But  the  night,  the  unpenetrable  night,  thicker  than, 
walls,  and  empty,  the  infinite  night,  so  black,  so  vast,  in 
which  one  might  brush  against  frightful  things,  the 
night  when  one  feels  that  mysterious  terror  is  wander- 
ing, prowling  about,  appeared  to  him  to  conceal  an  un- 
known danger,  close  and  menacing. 

What  was  it? 

He  knew  it  ere  long.  As  he  sat  in  his  armchair, 
rather  late  one  evening  when  he  could  not  sleep,"  he 
thought  he  saw  the  curtain  of  his  window  move.  He 
waited,  in  an  uneasy  state  of  mind,  with  beating  heart. 
The  drapery  did  not  stir;  then,  all  of  a  sudden  it  moved 
once  more.  He  did  not  venture  to  rise  up ;  he  no  longer 
ventured  to  breathe,  and  yet  he  was  brave.  He  had 
often  fought,  and  he  would  have  liked  to  catch  thieves 
in  his  house. 

Was  it  true  that  this  curtain  did  move?  he  asked  him- 
self, fearing  that  his  eyes  had  deceived  him.  It  was, 
moreover,  such  a  slight  thing,  a  gentle  flutter  of  lace,  a 
kind  of  trembling  in  its  folds,  less  than  an  undulation 

such  as  is  caused  by  the  wind. 
V— 21 


322  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Renardet  sat  still,  with  staring  eyes,  and  outstretched 
neck;  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet  abruptly  ashamed  of  his 
fear,  took  four  steps,  seized  the  drapery  with  both 
hands,  and  pulled  it  wide  apart.  At  first,  he  saw 
nothing  but  darkened  glass,  resembling  plates  of  glitter- 
ing ink.  The  night,  the  vast,  impenetrable  sketched 
behind  as  far  as  the  invisible  horizon.  He  remained 
standing  in  front  of  this  illimitable  shadow,  and  sud- 
denly he  perceived  a  light,  a  moving  light,  which 
seemed  some  distance  away. 

Then  he  put  his  face  close  to  the  window-pane, 
thinking  that  a  person  looking  for  crayfish  might  be 
poaching  in  the  Brindelle,  for  it  was  past  midnight,  and 
this  light  rose  up  at  the  edge  of  the  stream,  under  the 
trees.  As  he  was  not  yet  able  to  see  clearly,  Renardet 
placed  his  hands  over  his  eyes;  and  suddenly  this  light 
became  an  illumination,  and  he  beheld  little  Louise 
Roque  naked  and  bleeding  on  the  moss.  He  recoiled 
frozen  with  horror,  sank  into  his  chair,  and  fell  back- 
ward. He  remained  there  some  minutes,  his  soul  in 
distress,  then  he  sat  up  and  began  to  reflect.  He  had 
had  a  hallucination  —  that  was  all;  a  hallucination  due 
to  the  fact  that  a  marauder  of  the  night  was  walking 
with  a  lantern  in  his  hand  near  the  water's  edge.  What 
was  there  astonishing,  besides,  in  the  circumstance  that 
the  recollection  of  his  crime  should  sometimes  bring  be- 
fore him  the  vision  of  the  dead  girl? 

He  rose  up,  swallowed  a  glass  of  wine  and  sat 
down  again. 

He  thought. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  If  this  come  back?  " 

And  it  did  come  back;  he  felt  it;  he  was  sure  of  it. 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  323 

Already  his  glance  was  drawn  towards  the  window;  it 
called  him ;  it  attracted  him.  In  order  to  avoid  looking 
at  it,  he  turned  aside  his  chair.  Then  he  took  a  book 
and  tried  to  read;  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
presently  heard  something  stirring  behind  him,  and  he 
swung  round  his  armchair  on  one  foot. 

The  curtain  still  moved  —  unquestionably,  it  did 
move  this  time;  he  could  no  longer  have  any  doubt 
about  it. 

He  rushed  forward  and  seized  it  in  his  grasp  so 
violently  that  he  knocked  it  down  with  its  fastener. 
Then,  he  eagerly  pasted  his  face  against  the  glass.  He 
saw  nothing.  All  was  black  without ;  and  he  breathed 
with  the  delight  of  a  man  whose  life  has  just  been  saved. 

Then,  he  went  back  to  his  chair,  and  sat  down 
again ;  but  almost  immediately  he  felt  a  longing  once 
more  to  look  out  through  the  window.  Since  the  cur- 
tain had  fallen  the  space  in  front  of  him  made  a  sort  ot 
dark  patch  fascinating  and  terrible  on  the  obscure  land- 
scape. In  order  not  to  yield  to  this  dangerous  tempta- 
tion, he  took  oft  his  clothes,  blew  out  the  light,  went  to 
bed,  and  shut  his  eyes. 

Lying  on  his  back  motionless,  his  skin  hot  and  moist, 
he  awaited  sleep.  Suddenly  a  great  gleam  of  light 
flashed  across  his  eyelids.  He  opened  them,  believing 
that  his  dwelling  was  on  fire.  All  was  black  as  before, 
and  he  leaned  on  his  elbow  in  order  to  try  to  distinguish 
his  window  which  had  still  for  him  an  unconquer- 
able attraction.  By  dint  of  straining  his  eyes,  he  could 
perceive  some  stars,  and  he  arose,  groped  his  way 
across  the  room,  discovered  the  panes  with  his  out- 
stretched hands,  and  placed  his  forehead  close  to  them. 


324  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

There  below,  under  the  trees,  the  body  of  the  little  girl 
glittered  like  phosphorus,  lighting  up  the  surrounding 
darkness. 

Renardet  uttered  a  cry  and  rushed  towards  his  bed, 
where  he  lay  till  morning,  his  head  hidden  under  the 
pillow. 

From  that  moment,  his  life  became  intolerable.  Pie 
passed  his  days  in  apprehension  of  each  succeeding 
night;  and  each  night  the  vision  came  back  again.  As 
soon  as  he  had  locked  himself  up  in  his  room,  he  strove 
to  struggle;  but  In  vain.  An  Irresistible  force  lifted 
him  up  and  pushed  him  against  the  glass,  as  If  to  call 
the  phantom,  and  ere  long  he  saw  It  lying  at  first  in 
the  spot  where  the  crime  was  committed,  lying  with 
arms  and  legs  outspread,  just  In  the  way  the  body  had 
been  found. 

Then  the  dead  girl  rose  up  and  came  towards  him 
with  little  steps  just  as  the  child  had  done  when  she 
came  out  of  the  river.  She  advanced  quietly,  passing 
straight  across  the  grass,  and  over  the  border  of 
withered  flowers.  Then  she  rose  up  Into  the  air  to- 
wards Renardet's  window.  She  came  towards  him,  as 
she  had  come  on  the  day  of  the  crime  towards  the  mur- 
derer. And  the  man  recoiled  before  the  apparition  — 
he  retreated  to  his  bed  and  sank  down  upon  It,  know- 
ing well  that  the  little  one  had  entered  the  room,  and 
that  she  now  was  standing  behind  the  curtain  which 
presently  moved.  And  until  daybreak,  he  kept  staring 
at  this  curtain,  with  a  fixed  glance,  ever  waiting  to  see 
his  victim  depart. 

But  she  did  not  show  herself  any  more;  she  remained 
there  behind  the  curtain  which  quivered  tremulously 
now  and  then. 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  325 

And  Renardet,  his  fingers  clinging  to  the  bedclothes, 
squeezed  them  as  he  had  squeezed  the  throat  of  little 
Louise  Roque. 

He  heard  the  clock  striking  the  hours;  and  in  the 
stillness  the  pendulum  kept  ticking  in  time  with  the  loud 
beatings  of  his  heart.  And  he  suffered,  the  wretched 
man,  more  than  any  man  had  ever  suffered  before. 

Then,  as  soon  as  a  white  streak  of  light  on  the  ceiling 
announced  the  approaching  day,  he  felt  himself  free, 
alone,  at  last,  alone  in  his  room;  and  at  last  he  went  to 
sleep.  He  slept  then  some  hours  —  a  restless,  feverish 
sleep  in  which  he  retraced  in  dreams  the  horrible  vision 
of  the  night  just  past. 

When,  later  on,  he  went  down  to  breakfast,  he  felt 
doubled  up  as  if  after  prodigious  fatigues;  and  he 
scarcely  ate  anything,  still  haunted  as  he  was  by  the  fear 
of  what  he  had  seen  the  night  before. 

He  knew  well,  however,  that  it  was  not  an  appari- 
tion, that  the  dead  do  not  come  back,  and  that  his  sick 
soul,  his  soul  possessed  by  one  thought  alone,  by  an  in- 
delible remembrance,  was  the  only  cause  of  his  punish- 
ment, the  only  evoker  of  the  dead  girl  brought  back  by 
it  to  life,  called  up  by  it  and  raised  by  it  before  his  eyes 
in  which  the  ineffaceable  image  remained  imprinted. 
But  he  knew,  too,  that  he  could  not  cure  it,  that  he 
would  never  escape  from  the  savage  persecution  of  his 
memory;  and  he  resolved  to  die,  rather  than  to  endure 
these  tortures  any  longer. 

Then,  he  thought  of  how  he  would  kill  himself.  He 
wished  for  something  simple  and  natural,  which  would 
preclude  the  idea  of  Suicide.  For  he  clung  to  his  repu- 
tation, to  the  names  bequeathed  to  him  by  his  ancestors; 
and  if  there  were  any  suspicion  as  the  cause  of  his  death. 


326  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

people's  thoughts  might  be  perhaps  directed  towards 
the  mysterious  crime,  towards  the  murderer  who  could 
not  be  found,  and  they  would  not  hesitate  to  accuse  him 
of  the  crime. 

A  strange  idea  came  into  his  head,  that  of  getting 
himself  crushed  by  the  tree  at  the  foot  of  which  he  had 
assassinated  little  Louise  Roque.  So  he  determined  to 
have  his  wood  cut  down,  and  to  simulate  an  accident. 
But  the  beech-tree  refused  to  smash  his  ribs. 

Returning  to  his  house,  a  prey  to  utter  despair  he  had 
snatched  up  his  revolver,  and  then  he  did  not  dare  to 
fire  it. 

The  dinner  bell  summoned  him.  He  could  eat  noth- 
ing, and  then  he  went  up-stairs  again.  And  he  did  not 
know  what  he  was  going  to  do.  Now  that  he  had 
escaped  the  first  time,  he  felt  himself  a  coward. 
Presently,  he  would  be  ready,  fortified,  decided,  master 
of  his  courage  and  of  his  resolution;  now,  he  was  weak 
and  feared  death  as  much  as  he  did  the  dead  girl. 

He  faltered: 

"  I  will  not  venture  it  again  —  I  will  not  venture  it.'* 

Then  he  glanced  with  terror,  first  at  the  revolver  on 
the  table,  and  next  at  the  curtain  which  hid  his  window. 
It  seemed  to  him,  moreover  that  something  horrible 
would  occur  as  soon  as  his  life  was  ended.  Something? 
What?  A  meeting  with  her  perhaps.  She  was  watch- 
ing for  him;  she  was  waiting  for  him;  she  was  calling 
him ;  and  her  object  was  to  seize  him  in  her  turn,  to  draw 
him  towards  the  doom  that  would  avenge  her,  and  to 
lead  him  to  die  so  that  she  might  exhibit  herself  thus 
every  night. 

He  began  to  cry  like  a  child,  repeating: 

*'  I  will  not  venture  it  again  —  I  will  not  venture  it. 


♦» 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  327 

Then,  he  fell  on  his  knees,  and  murmured: 

"My  God!  my  God!"  without  believing,  never- 
theless, In  God.  And  he  no  longer  dared,  In  fact,  to 
look  out  through  his  window  where  he  knew  the  ap- 
parition was  visible  nor  at  his  table  where  his  revolver 
gleamed. 

When  he  had  risen  up,  he  said: 

"  This  cannot  last;  there  must  be  an  end  of  it." 

The  sound  of  his  voice  In  the  silent  room  made  a 
shiver  of  fear  pass  through  his  limbs,  but,  as  he  could 
not  bring  himself  to  come  to  a  determination  as  he  felt 
certain  that  his  finger  would  always  refuse  to  pull  the 
trigger  of  his  revolver,  he  turned  round  to  hide  his  head 
under  the  bedclothes,  and  plunged  into  reflection. 

He  would  have  to  find  some  way  in  which  he  could 
force  himself  to  die,  to  Invent  some  device  against  him- 
self, which  would  not  permit  of  any  hesitation  on  his 
part,  any  delay,  any  possible  regrets.  He  envied  con- 
demned criminals  who  are  led  to  the  scaffold  surrounded 
by  soldiers.  Oh !  if  he  could  only  beg  of  some  one  to 
shoot  him;  if  he  could,  confessing  the  state  of  his  soul, 
confessing  his  crime  to  a  sure  friend  who  would  nev^er 
divulge  it,  obtain  from  him  death. 

But  from  whom  could  he  ask  this  terrible  service? 
FVom  whom?  He  cast  about  in  his  thoughts  among 
his  friends  whom  he  knew  intimately.  The  doctor? 
No,  he  would  talk  about  it  afterwards,  most  certainly. 
And  suddenly  a  fantastic  idea  entered  his  mind.  He 
would  write  to  the  examining  magistrate,  who  was  on 
terms  of  close  friendship  with  him  and  would  denounce 
himself  as  the  perpetrator  of  the  crime.  He  would  In 
this  letter  confess  everything,  revealing  how  his  soul 
had  been  tortured,  how  he  had  resolved  to  die,  how  he 


328  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

had  hesitated  about  carrying  out  his  resolution,  and 
what  means  he  had  employed  to  strengthen  his  failing 
courage.  And  in  the  name  of  their  old  friendship  he 
would  implore  of  the  other  to  destroy  the  letter  as  soon 
as  he  had  ascertained  that  the  culprit  had  inflicted  jus- 
tice on  himself.  Renardet  might  rely  on  this  magis- 
trate, he  knew  him  to  be  sure,  discreet,  incapable  of  even 
an  idle  word.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  have  an 
inflexible  conscience  governed,  directed,  regulated  by 
their  reason  alone. 

Scarcely  had  he  formed  this  project  when  a  strange 
feeling  of  joy  took  possession  of  his  heart.  He  was  calm 
now.  He  would  write  his  letter  slowly,  then  at  day- 
break he  would  deposit  it  in  the  box  nailed  to  the  wall 
in  his  office,  then  he  would  ascend  his  tower  to  watch 
for  the  postman's  arrival,  and  when  the  man  in  the  blue 
blouse  showed  himself,  he  would  cast  himself  head  fore- 
most on  the  rocks  on  which  the  foundations  rested.  He 
would  take  care  to  be  seen  first  by  the  workmen  who  had 
cut  down  his  wood.  He  could  then  climb  to  the  step 
some  distance  up  which  bore  the  flag  staff  displayed  on 
fete  days.  He  would  smash  this  pole  with  a  shake  and 
precipitate  it  along  with  him. 

Who  would  suspect  that  it  was  not  an  accident  ?  And 
he  would  be  killed  completely,  having  regard  to  his 
weight  and  the  height  of  the  tower. 

Presently  he  got  out  of  bed,  went  over  to  the  table, 
and  began  to  write.  He  omitted  nothing,  not  a  single 
detail  of  the  crime,  not  a  single  detail  of  the  torments 
of  his  heart,  and  he  ended  by  announcing  that  he  had 
passed  sentence  on  himself,  that  he  was  going  to  execute 
the  criminal,  and  begging  of  his  friend,  his  old  friend, 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQLE  329 

to  be  careful  that  there  should  never  be  any  stain  on 
his  memory. 

When  he  had  finished  his  letter,  he  saw  that  the  day 
had  dawned. 

He  closed  and  sealed  it,  wrote  the  address;  then  he 
descended  with  light  steps,  hurried  towards  the  little 
white  box  fastened  to  the  wall  in  the  corner  of  the  farm- 
house, and  when  he  had  thrown  into  it  the  paper  which 
made  his  hand  tremble,  he  came  back  quickly,  shut  the 
bolts  of  the  great  door,  and  climbed  up  to  his  tower  to 
wait  for  the  passing  of  the  postman,  who  would  convey 
his  death  sentence. 

He  felt  self-possessed,  now.     Liberated!     Saved! 

A  cold  dry  wind,  an  icy  wind,  passed  across  his  face. 
He  inhaled  it  eagerly,  with  open  mouth,  drinking  in  its 
chilling  kiss.  The  sky  was  red,  with  a  burning  red, 
the  red  of  winter,  and  all  the  plain  whitened  with  frost 
glistened  under  the  first  rays  of  the  sun,  as  if  it  had 
been  powdered  with  bruised  glass. 

Renardet,  standing  up,  with  his  head  bare,  gazed  at 
the  vast  tract  of  country  before  him,  the  meadow  to  the 
left,  and  to  the  right  the  village  whose  chimneys  were 
beginning  to  smoke  with  the  preparations  for  the  morn- 
ing meal.  At  his  feet  he  saw  the  Brindelle  flowing  to- 
wards the  rocks,  where  he  would  soon  be  crushed  to 
death.  He  felt  himself  reborn  on  that  beautiful  frosty 
morning,  full  of  strength,  full  of  life.  The  light 
bathed  him,  penetrated  him  like  a  new-born  hope.  A 
thousand  recollections  assailed  him,  recollections  of  sim- 
ilar mornings,  of  rapid  walks  on  the  hard  earth  which 
rang  under  his  footsteps,  of  happy  chases  on  the  edges  of 
pools  where  wild  ducks  sleep.     All  the  good  things  that 


330  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

he  loved,  the  good  things  of  existence  rushed  into 
memory,  penetrated  him  with  fresh  desires,  awakened 
all  the  vigorous  appetites  of  his  active,  powerful  body. 

And  he  was  about  to  die?  Why?  He  was  going 
to  kill  himself  stupidly,  because  he  was  afraid  of  a 
shadow  —  afraid  of  nothing?  He  was  still  rich  and 
in  the  prime  of  life!  What  folly!  But  all  he  wanted 
was  distraction,  absence,  a  voyage  in  order  to  forget. 

This  night  even  he  had  not  seen  the  little  girl  be- 
cause his  mind  was  preoccupied,  and  so  had  wandered 
towards  some  other  subject.  Perhaps  he  would  not  see 
her  any  more?  And  even  if  she  still  haunted  him  in 
this  house,  certainly  she  would  not  follow  him  else- 
where !     The  earth  was  wide,  the  future  was  long. 

Why  die? 

His  glance  traveled  across  the  meadows,  and  he  per- 
ceived a  blue  spot  in  the  path  which  wound  alongside 
the  Brindelle.  It  was  Mederic  coming  to  bring  letters 
from  the  town  and  to  carry  away  those  of  the  village. 

Renardet  got  a  start,  a  sensation  of  pain  shot  through 
his  breast,  and  he  rushed  towards  the  winding  staircase 
to  get  back  his  letter,  to  demand  It  back  from  the  post- 
man. Little  did  it  matter  to  him  now  whether  he  was 
seen.  He  hurried  across  the  grass  moistened  by  the 
light  frost  of  the  previous  night,  and  he  arrived  in  front 
of  the  box  In  the  corner  of  the  farm-house  exactly  at 
the  same  time  as  the  letter  carrier. 

The  latter  had  opened  the  little  wooden  door,  and 
drew  forth  the  four  papers  deposited  there  by  the  in- 
habitants of  the  locality. 

Renardet  said  to  him : 

"  Good  morrow,   Mederic." 

"  Good  morrow,  M'sieu  le  Malre." 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE  331 

"  I  say,  Mederic,  I  threw  a  letter  into  the  box  that 
I  want  back  again.  I  came  to  ask  you  to  give  it  back 
to  me." 

"That's  all  right,  M'sieur  le  Maire  —  you'll  get 
it." 

And  the  postman  raised  his  eyes.  He  stood  petrified 
at  the  sight  of  Renardet's  face.  The  Mayor's  cheeks 
were  purple,  his  eyes  were  glaring  with  black  circles 
round  them  as  if  they  were  sunk  in  his  head,  his  hair 
was  all  tangled,  his  beard  untrimmed,  his  necktie  un- 
fastened.    It  was  evident  that  he  had  not  gone  to  bed. 

The  postman  asked: 

"  Are  you  ill,  M'sieur  le  Maire?  " 

The  other,  suddenly  comprehending  that  his  appear- 
ance must  be  unusual,  lost  countenance,  and  faltered  — 

"  Oh!  no  —  oh!  no.  Only  I  jumped  out  of  bed  to 
ask  you  for  this  letter.  I  was  asleep.  You  under- 
stand?" 

He  said  in  reply : 

"What  letter?" 

"  The  one  you  are  going  to  give  back  to  me." 

Mederic  now  began  to  hesitate.  The  Mayor's  at- 
titude did  not  strike  him  as  natural.  There  was  per- 
haps a  secret  in  that  letter,  a  political  secret.  He  knew 
Renardet  was  not  a  Republican,  and  he  knew  all  the 
tricks  and  chicaneries  emp'oyed  at  elections. 

He  asked: 

"  To  whom  is  it  addressed,  this  letter  of  yours?  " 

"To  M.  Putoin,  the  examining  magistrate  —  you 
know  my  friend,  M.  Putoin,  well !  " 

The  postman  searched  through  the  papers,  and  found 
the  one  asked  for.  Then  he  began  looking  at  it,  turn- 
ing it  round  and  round  between  his  fingers,  much  per- 


332  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

plexed,  much  troubled  by  the  fear  of  committing  a  grave 
offense  or  of  making  an  enemy  for  himself  of  the 
Mayor. 

Seeing  his  hesitation,  Renardet  made  a  movement 
for  the  purpose  of  seizing  the  letter  and  snatching  it 
away  from  him.  This  abrupt  action  convinced  Me- 
deric  that  some  important  secret  was  at  stake  and  made 
him  resolve  to  do  his  duty,  cost  what  it  may. 

So  he  flung  the  letter  into  his  bag  and  fastened  it 
up,  with  the  reply : 

"  No,  I  can't,  M'sieur  le  Maire.  From  the  mo- 
ment it  goes  to  the  magistrate,  I  can't." 

A  dreadful  pang  wrung  Renardet's  heart,  and  he 
murmured: 

"  Why,  you  know  me  well.  You  are  even  able  to 
recognize  my  handwriting.  I  tell  you  I  want  that  pa- 
per." 

"  I  can't." 

"  Look  here,  Mederic,  you  know  that  I'm  incapable 
of  deceiving  you  —  I  tell  you  I  want  it." 

"  No,  I  can't." 

A  tremor  of  rage  passed  through  Renardet's  soul. 

"  Damn  It  all,  take  care !  You  know  that  I  don't 
go  In  for  chafling,  and  that  I  could  get  you  out  of 
your  job,  my  good  fellow,  and  without  much  delay 
either.  And  then,  I  am  the  Mayor  of  the  district,  after 
all;  and  I  now  order  you  to  give  me  back  that  paper." 

The  postman  answered  firmly: 

"  No,  I  can't,  M'sieur  le  Maire." 

Thereupon,  Renardet,  losing  his  head,  caught  hold 
of  the  postman's  arms  in  order  to  take  away  his  bag; 
but,  freeing  himself  by  a  strong  effort,  and  springing 


LITTLE  LOUISE  ROQUE    '  333 

backwards,  the  letter  carrier  raised  his  big  holly  stick. 
Without  losing  his  temper,  he  said  emphatically : 

"  Don't  touch  me,  M'sieur  le  Maire,  or  I'll  strike. 
Take  care,  I'm  only  doing  my  duty!  " 

Feeling  that  he  was  lost,  Renardet  suddenly  became 
humble,  gentle,  appealing  to  him  like  a  crying  child : 

"  Look  here,  look  here,  my  friend,  give  me  back 
that  letter,  and  I'll  recompense  you  —  I'll  give  you 
money.  Stop  !  Stop  !  I'll  give  you  a  hundred  francs, 
you  understand  —  a  hundred  francs  !  " 

The  postman  turned  on  his  heel  and  started  on  his 
journey. 

Renardet  followed  him,  out  of  breath,  faltering: 
"  Mederic,   Alederic,   listen !      I'll  give  you  a  thou- 
sand francs,  you  understand  —  a  thousand  francs." 
The  postman  still  went  on  without  giving  any  answer. 
Renardet  went  on : 

"  I'll  make  your  fortune,  you  understand  —  what- 
ever you  wish  —  fifty  thousand  francs  —  fifty  thousand 
francs  for  that  letter!  What  does  it  matter  to  you? 
You  won't?  Well,  a  hundred  thousand  —  I  say  —  a 
hundred  thousand  francs.  Do  you  understand?  A 
hundred  thousand  francs  —  a  hundred  thousand 
francs." 

The  postman  turned  back,  his  face  hard,  his  eye 
severe: 

"  Enough  of  this,  or  else  I'll  repeat  to  the  magis- 
trate everything  you  have  just  said  to  me." 

Renardet  stopped  abruptly.  It  was  all  over.  He 
turned  back  and  rushed  towards  his  house,  running  like 
a  hunted  animal. 

Then,  in  his  turn,  Mederic  stopped,  and  watched  this 


334  ■     GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

flight  with  stupefaction.  He  saw  the  Mayor  re-enter- 
ing his  own  house,  and  he  waited  still  as  if  something 
astonishing  was  about  to  happen. 

In  fact,  presently  the  tall  form  of  Renardet  ap- 
peared on  the  summit  of  the  Fox's  tower.  He  ran 
round  the  platform,  like  a  madman.  Then  he  seized 
the  flagstaff  and  shook  it  furiously  W'ithout  succeeding 
in  breaking  it,  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  like  a  swimmer 
taking  a  plunge,  he  dashed  into  the  air  with  his  two 
hands  in  front  of  him. 

Mederic  nished  forward  to  give  succor.  As  he 
crossed  the  park,  he  saw  the  woodcutters  going  to  work. 
He  called  out  to  them  telling  them  an  accident  had 
occurred,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  walls  they  found  a 
bleeding  body  the  head  of  which  was  crushed  on  a 
rock.  The  Brindelle  surrounded  this  rock,  and  over 
its  clear,  calm  waters,  swollen  at  this  point,  could  be 
seen  a  long  red  stream  of  mingled  brains  and  blood. 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 


rp 


HE  Comtesse  Samoris." 

"  That  lady  in  black  over  there?  " 


-■-  "  The   very   one.      She's   wearing    mourn 

ing  for  her  daughter,  whom  she  killed." 

"  Come  now!      You  don't  mean  that  seriously?  " 

"  Oh !  it  is  a  very  simple  story,  without  any  crime 
in  it,  any  violence." 

"Then  what  really  happened?" 

"  Almost  nothing.  Many  courtesans  were  born  to 
be  virtuous  women,  they  say;  and  many  women  called 
virtuous  were  born  to  be  courtesans  —  is  that  not  so  ? 
Now,  Madame  Samoris,  who  was  born  a  courtesan,  had 
a  daughter  born  a  virtuous  woman,  that's  all." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  you." 

"  I'll  explain  what  I  mean.  The  Comtesse  Samoris 
is  one  of  those  tinsel  foreign  women  hundreds  of  whom 
are  rained  down  every  year  on  Paris.  A  Hungarian 
or  Wallachian  countess,  or  I  know  not  what,  she  ap- 
peared one  winter  in  apartments  she  had  taken  in  the 
Champs  Elysees,  that  quarter  for  adventurers  and  ad- 
venturesses, and  opened  her  drawing-room  to  the  first 
comer  or  to  anyone  that  turned  up. 

"  I  went  there.  Why?  you  will  say.  I  really  can't 
tell  you.  I  went  there,  as  everyone  goes  to  such  places 
because  the  women  are  facile  and  the  men  are  dishonest. 
You  know  that  set  composed  of  filibusters  with  varied 
decorations,  all  noble,  all  titled,  all  unknown  at  the  em- 
bassies, with  the  exception  of  those  who  are  spies.      All 

335 


2,^6  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

talk  of  their  honor  without  the  shghtest  occasion  for 
doing  so,  boast  of  their  ancestors,  tell  you  about  their 
lives,  braggarts,  hars,  sharpers,  as  dangerous  as  the 
false  cards  they  have  up  their  sleeves,  as  delusive  as 
their  name  —  in  short,  the  aristocracy  of  the  bagnio. 

"  I  adore  these  people.  They  are  interesting  to 
study,  interesting  to  know,  amusing  to  understand,  often 
clever,  never  commonplace  like  public  functionaries. 
Their  wives  are  always  pretty,  with  a  slight  flavor 
of  foreign  roguery,  with  the  mystery  of  their  existence, 
half  of  it  perhaps  spent  in  a  house  of  correction.  They 
have,  as  a  rule,  magnificent  eyes  and  incredible  hair. 
I  adore  them  also. 

"  Madame  Samoris  is  the  type  of  these  adventuresses, 
elegant,  mature,  and  still  beautiful.  Charming  feline 
creatures,  you  feel  that  they  are  vicious  to  the  marrow 
of  their  bones.  You  finci  them  very  amusing  when  you 
visit  them;  they  give  card-parties;  they  have  dances  and 
suppers;  in  short,  they  offer  you  all  the  pleasures  of 
social  life. 

"  And  she  had  a  daughter  —  a  tall,  fine-looking  girl, 
always  ready  for  entertainments,  always  full  of  laughter 
and  reckless  gayety  —  a  true  adventuress's  daughter  — - 
but,  at  the  same  time,  an  innocent,  unsophisticated,  art- 
less girl,  who  saw  nothing,  knew  nothing,  understood 
nothing  of  all  the  things  that  happened  in  her  father's 
house." 

"  How  do  you  know  about  him?  " 

"  How  do  I  know?  That's  the  funniest  part  of  the 
business !  One  morning,  there  was  a  ring  at  my  door, 
and  my  valet  came  up  to  tell  me  that  M.  Joseph  Bonen- 
thal  wanted  to  speak  to  me.  I  said  directly:  'And 
who  is  this  gentleman?  '      My  valet  replied:      '  I  don't 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER         337 

know,  monsieur;  perhaps  'tis  someone  that  wants  em- 
ployment.' And  so  it  was.  The  man  wanted  me  to 
take  him  as  a  servant.  I  asked  him  where  he  had  been 
last.  He  answered:  'With  the  Comtesse  Samoris.' 
'  Ah  I  '  said  I,  '  but  my  house  is  not  a  bit  like  hers.' 
'  I  know  that  well,  monsieur,'  he  said,  '  and  that's  the 
\ery  reason  I  want  to  take  service  with  monsieur.  I've 
had  enough  of  these  people:  a  man  may  stay  a  little 
while  with  them,  but  he  won't  remain  long  with  them.' 
I  required  an  additional  man  servant  at  the  time,  and 
so  I  took  him. 

"  A  month  later,  Mademoiselle  Yveline  Samoris  died 
mysteriously,  and  here  are  all  the  details  of  her  death  I 
could  gather  from  Joseph,  who  got  them  from  his 
sweetheart,  the  Comtesse's  chambermaid: 

"  It  was  a  ball-night,  and  two  newly-arrived  guests 
were  chatting  behind  a  door.  Mademoiselle  Yveline, 
who  had  just  been  dancing,  leaned  against  this  door  to 
get  a  little  air. 

"  They  did  not  see  her  approaching;  but  she  heard 
what  they  were  saying.     And  this  was  what  they  said : 

"  '  But  who  is  the  father  of  the  girl?  ' 

"  '  A  Russian,  it  appears.  Count  Rouvaloft.  He 
never  comes  near  the  mother  now.' 

And  who  is  the  reigning  prince  to-day?  ' 
That  English  prince  standing  near  the  window; 
Madame  Samoris  adores  him.  But  her  adoration  of 
anyone  never  lasts  longer  than  a  month  or  six  weeks. 
Nevertheless,  as  you  see,  she  has  a  large  circle  of  ad- 
mirers. All  are  called  —  and  nearly  all  are  chosen. 
That  kind  of  thing  costs  a  good  deal,  but  —  hang  it, 
what  can  you  expect?  ' 

"  '  And  where  did  she  get  this  name  of  Samoris?  ' 
V— 22 


338  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"  '  From  the  only  man  perhaps  that  she  ever  loved 
—  a  Jewish  banker  from  Berlin  who  goes  by  the  name 
of  Samuel  Morris.' 

"  '  Good.  Thanks.  Now  that  I  know  all  about 
her,  and  see  her  sort,  Tm  off !  ' 

"  What  a  start  there  was  in  the  brain  of  the  young 
girl  endowed  with  all  the  instincts  of  a  virtuous  woman! 
What  despair  overwhelmed  that  simple  soul !  What 
mental  tortures  quenched  her  endless  gayety,  her  de- 
lightful laughter,  her  exulting  satisfaction  with  life! 
What  a  conflict  took  place  in  that  youthful  heart  up  to 
the  moment  when  the  last  guest  had  left !  Those  were 
things  that  Joseph  could  not  tell  me.  But,  the  same 
night,  Yveline  abruptly  entered  her  mother's  room  just 
as  the  Comtesse  was  getting  into  bed,  sent  out  the  wait- 
ing-maid, who  was  close  to  the  door,  and,  standing 
erect  and  pale,  and  with  great  staring  eyes,  she  said: 

"  '  Mamma,  listen  to  what  I  heard  a  little  while 
ago  during  the  ball.' 

"  And  she  repeated  word  for  word  the  conversation 
just  as  I  told  it  to  you. 

"  The  Comtesse  was  so  stupefied  that  she  did  not 
know  what  to  say  in  reply,  at  first.  When  she  recov- 
ered her  self-possession,  she  denied  everything,  and 
called  God  to  witness  that  there  was  no  truth  in  the 
story. 

"  The  young  girl  went  away,  distracted  but  not  con- 
vinced.    And  she  watched  her  mother. 

"  I  remember  distinctly  the  strange  alteration  that 
then  took  place  in  her.  She  was  always  grave  and 
melancholy.  She  used  to  i\x  on  us  her  great  earnest 
eyes  as  if  she  wanted  to  read  what  was  at  the  bottom  of   ^ 


MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER  339 

our  hearts.  We  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  her, 
and  we  used  to  maintain  that  she  was  looking  out  for  a 
husband. 

"  One  evening  her  doubts  were  dispelled.  She 
caught  her  mother  with  a  lover.  Thereupon  she  said 
coldly,  like  a  man  of  business  laying  down  the  terms 
of  an  agreement: 

"  '  Here  is  what  I  have  determined  to  do,  mamma : 
We  will  both  go  away  to  some  little  town  —  or  rather 
into  the  country.  We  will  live  there  quietly  as  well  as 
we  can.  Your  jewelry  alone  may  be  called  a  fortune. 
If  you  wish  to  marry  some  honest  man,  so  much  the 
better;  still  better  will  it  be  if  I  can  find  one.  If  you 
don't  consent  to  do  this,  I  will  kill  myself.' 

"  This  time,  the  Comtesse  ordered  her  daughter  to 
go  to  bed,  and  never  to  administer  again  this  lecture 
so  unbecoming  in  the  mouth  of  a  child  towards  her 
mother. 

"  Yveline's  answer  to  this  was :  '  I  give  you  a  month 
to  reflect.  If,  at  the  end  of  that  month,  we  have  not 
changed  our  way  of  living,  I  will  kill  myself,  since  there 
is  no  other  honorable  issue  left  to  my  life.' 

"  Then  she  took  herself  off. 

"  At  the  end  of  a  month,  the  Comtesse  Samoris  was 
giving  balls  and  suppers  just  the  same  as  ever.  Yveline 
then,  under  the  pretext  that  she  had  a  bad  toothache 
purchased  a  few  drops  of  chloroform  from  a  neighbor- 
ing chemist.  The  next  day  she  purchased  more;  and, 
every  time  she  went  out,  she  managed  to  procure  small 
doses  of  the  narcotic.      She  filled  a  bottle  with  it. 

"  One  morning  she  was  found  in  bed,  lifeless,  and 
already  quite  cold,  with  a  cotton  mask  over  her  face. 


340  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"  Her  coffin  was  covered  with  flowers,  the  church 
was  hung  in  white.  There  was  a  large  crowd  at  the 
funeral  ceremony. 

"Ah!  well,  if  I  had  known  —  but  you  never  can 
know  —  I  would  have  married  that  girl,  for  she  was 
infernally  pretty." 

"  And  what  became  of  the  mother?  " 

"  Oh !  she  shed  a  lot  of  tears  over  it.  She  has  only 
begun  to  receive  visits  again  for  the  past  week." 

"  And  what  explanation  is  given  of  the  girl's 
death?" 

"  Oh!  'tis  pretended  that  it  was  an  accident  caused 
by  a  new  stove,  the  mechanism  of  which  got  out  of  or- 
der.  As  a  good  many  such  accidents  have  happened, 
the  thing  looks  probable  enough." 


A  PASSION 

THE  sea  was  brilliant  and  unruffled,  scarcely 
stirred,  and  on  the  pier  the  entire  town  of 
Havre  watched  the  ships  as  they  came  on. 

They  could  be  seen  at  a  distance,  in  great  numbers; 
some  of  them,  the  steamers,  with  plumes  of  smoke;  the 
others,  the  sailing  vessels,  drawn  by  almost  invisible 
tugs,  lifting  towards  the  sky  their  bare  masts,  like 
leafless  trees. 

They  hurried  from  every  end  of  the  horizon  towards 
the  narrow  mouth  of  the  jetty  which  devoured  these 
monsters;  and  they  groaned,  they  shrieked,  they  hissed 
while  they  spat  out  pufts  of  steam  like  animals  panting 
for  breath. 

Two  young  officers  were  walking  on  the  landing- 
stage,  where  a  number  of  people  were  waiting,  saluting 
or  returning  salutes,  and  sometimes  stopping  to  chat. 

Suddenly,  one  of  them,  the  taller,  Paul  d'Henricol, 
pressed  the  arm  of  his  comrade,  Jean  Renoldi,  then, 
in  a  whisper,  said: 

"Hallo,  here's  Madame  Poincot;  give  a  good  look 
at  her.      I  assure  you  that  she's  making  eyes  at  you." 

She  was  moving  along  on  the  arm  of  her  husband. 
She  was  a  woman  of  about  forty,  very  handsome  still, 
slightly  stout,  but,  owing  to  her  graceful  fullness  of 
figure,  as  fresh  as  she  was  at  twenty.  Among  her 
friends  she  was  known  as  the  Goddess  on  account  of 
her  proud  gait,  her  large  black  eyes,  and  the  entire  air 
of  nobility  of  her  person.      She   remained  irreproach- 

341 


342  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

able;  never  had  the  least  suspicion  cast  a  breath  on  her 
life's  purity.  She  was  regarded  as  the  very  type  of 
a  virtuous,  uncorrupted  woman.  So  upright  that  no 
man  had  ever  dared  to  think  of  her. 

And  yet  for  the  last  month  Paul  d'Henrlcol  had  been 
assuring  his  friend  Renoldi  that  Madame  Poincot  was 
in  love  with  him,  and  he  maintained  that  there  was 
no  doubt  of  it. 

"  Be  sure  I  don't  deceive  myself.  I  see  it  clearly. 
She  loves  you  —  she  loves  you  passionately,  like  a 
chaste  woman  who  had  never  loved.  Forty  years  is  a 
terrible  age  for  virtuous  women  when  they  possess 
senses;  they  become  foolish,  and  commit  utter  follies. 
She  is  hit,  my  dear  fellow ;  she  is  falling  like  a  wounded 
bird,  and  is  ready  to  drop  into  your  arms.  I  say  — • 
just  look  at  her!  " 

The  tall  woman,  preceded  by  her  two  daughters, 
aged  twelve  and  fifteen  years,  suddenly  turned  pale,  on 
her  approach,  as  her  eyes  lighted  on  the  officer's  face. 
She  gave  him  an  ardent  glance,  concentrating  her  gaze 
upon  him,  and  no  longer  seemed  to  have  any  eyes  for 
her  children,  her  husband,  or  any  other  person  around 
her.  She  returned  the  salutation  of  the  two  young  men 
without  lowering  her  eyes,  glowing  with  such  a  flame 
that  a  doubt,  at  last,  forced  its  way  into  Lieutenant 
Renoldi's  mind. 

His  friend  said,  in  the  same  hushed  voice :  "  I  was 
sure  of  it.  Did  you  not  notice  her  this  time?  By 
Jove,  she  is  a  nice  tit-bit!  " 

•  •  •  ••••« 

But  Jean  Renoldi  had  no  desire  for  a  society  intrigue. 
Caring  little  for  love,  he  longed,  above  all,  for  a  quiet 
life,  and  contented  himself  with  occasional  amours  such 


A  PASSION  343 

as  a  young  man  can  always  have.  All  the  sentimental- 
ity, the  attentions,  and  the  tenderness  which  a  well-bred 
woman  exacts  bored  him.  The  chain,  however  slight  it 
might  be,  which  is  always  formed  by  an  adventure  of 
this  sort,  filled  him  with  fear.  He  said:  "  At  the  end 
of  a  month  Til  have  had  enough  of  it,  and  TU  be  forced 
to  wait  patiently  for  six  months  through  politeness." 

Then,  a  rupture  exasperated  him,  with  the  scenes,  the 
allusions,  the  clinging  attachment,  of  the  abandoned 
woman. 

He  avoided  meeting  Madame  Poincot. 

But,  one  evening  he  found  himself  by  her  side  at  a 
dinner-party,  and  he  felt  on  his  skin,  in  his  eyes,  and 
even  in  his  heart,  the  burning  glance  of  his  fair  neigh- 
bor. Their  hands  met,  and  almost  involuntarily  were 
pressed  together  in  a  warm  clasp.  Already  the  in- 
trigue was  almost  begun. 

He  saw  her  again,  always  in  spite  of  himself.  He 
realized  that  he  was  loved.  He  felt  himself  moved  by 
a  kind  of  pitying  vanity  when  he  saw  what  a  violent 
passion  for  him  swayed  this  woman's  breast.  So  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  adored,  and  merely  displayed 
gallantry,  hoping  that  the  affair  would  be  only  senti- 
mental. 

But,  one  day,  she  made  an  appointment  with  him  for 
the  ostensible  purpose  of  seeing  him  and  talking  freely 
to  him.  She  fell,  swooning,  into  his  arms;  and  he  had 
no  alternative  but  to  be  her  lover. 

And  this  lasted  six  months.  She  loved  him  with  an 
unbridled,  panting  love.  Absorbed  in  this  frenzied  pas- 
sion, she  no  longer  bestowed  a  thought  on  anything  else. 
She  surrendered  herself  to  it  utterly  —  her  body,  her 
soul,  her  reputation,  her  position,  her  happiness  —  ail 


344  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

she  had  cast  into  that  fire  of  her  heart,  as  one  casts, 
as  a  sacrifice,  every  precious  object  into  a  funeral  pier. 

He  had  for  some  time  grown  tired  of  her,  and  deeply 
regretted  his  easy  conquest  as  a  fascinating  officer;  but 
he  was  bound,  held  prisoner.  At  every  moment  she 
said  to  him:  "I  have  given  you  ev^erything.  What 
more  would  you  have?  "      He  felt  a  desire  to  answer: 

"  But  I  have  asked  nothing  from  you,  and  I  beg  of 
you  to  take  back  what  you  gave  me." 

Without  caring  about  being  seen,  compromised, 
ruined,  she  came  to  see  him  every  evening,  her  passion 
becoming  more  inflamed  each  time  they  met.  She  flung 
herself  into  his  arms,  strained  him  in  a  fierce  embrace, 
fainted  under  the  force  of  rapturous  kisses  which  to  him 
were  now  terribly  wearisome. 

He  said  In  a  languid  tone :  "  Look  here  !  be  reason- 
able !  " 

She  replied: 

"  I  love  you,"  and  sank  on  her  knees  gazing  at  him 
for  a  long  time  in  an  attitude  of  admiration.  At  lengthy 
exasperated  by  her  persistent  gaze,  he  tried  to  make 
her  rise. 

"I  say!     Sit  down.     Let  us  talk." 

She  murmured : 

"No,  leave  me;"  and  remained  there,  her  soul  in  a 
state  of  ecstasy. 

He  said  to  his  friend  d'Henrlcol: 

"  You  know,  'twill  end  by  my  beating  her.  I  won't 
have  any  more  of  It !  It  must  end,  and  that  without 
further  delay!  "     Tlien  he  went  on: 

"What  do  you  advise  me  to  do?" 

The  other  replied: 

"  Break  it  off." 


A  PASSION  345 

And  Renoldi  added,  shrugging  his  shoulders : 

"  You  speak  indifferently  about  the  matter;  you  be- 
lieve that  it  is  easy  to  break  with  a  woman  who  tortures 
you  with  attention,  who  annoys  you  with  kindnesses, 
who  persecutes  you  with  her  affection,  whose  only  care 
is  to  please  you,  and  whose  only  wrong  is  that  she  gave 
herself  to  you  in  spite  of  you." 

But  suddenly,  one  morning  the  news  came  that  the 
regiment  was  about  to  be  removed  from  the  garrison; 
Renoldi  began  to  dance  with  joy.  He  was/  saved ! 
Saved  without  scenes,  without  cries !  Saved !  All  he 
had  to  do  now  was  to  wait  patiently  for  two  months 
more.      Saved ! 

In  the  evening  she  came  to  him  more  excited  than 
she  had  ever  been  before.  She  had  heard  the  dreadful 
news,  and,  without  taking  off  her  hat  she  caught  his 
hands  and  pressed  them  nervously,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  his,  and  her  voice  vibrating  and  resolute. 

"  You  are  leaving,"  she  said;  "  I  know  it.  At  first, 
I  felt  heart-broken ;  then,  I  understood  what  I  had  to 
do.  I  don't  hesitate  about  doing  it.  I  have  come  to 
give  you  the  greatest  proof  of  love  that  a  woman  can 
offer.  I  follow  you.  For  you  I  am  abandoning  my 
husband,  my  children,  my  family.  I  am  ruining  my- 
self, but  I  am  happy.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  giving 
myself  to  you  over  again.  It  is  the  last  and  the  great- 
est sacrifice.      I  am  yours  for  ever!  " 

He  felt  a  cold  sweat  down  his  back,  and  was  seized 
with  a  dull  and  violent  rage,  the  anger  of  weakness. 
However,  he  became  calm,  and,  in  a  disinterested  tone, 
with  a  show  of  kindness,  he  refused  to  accept  her  sac- 
rifice, tried  to  appease  her,  to  bring  her  to  reason,  to 
make  her  see  her  own  folly !      She  listened  to  him,  star- 


346  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ing  at  him  with  her  great  black  eyes  and  with  a  smile 
of  disdain  on  her  hps,  and  said  not  a  word  in  reply. 
He  went  on  talking  to  her,  and  when,  at  length,  he 
stopped,  she  said  merely : 

"  Can  you  really  be  a  coward?  Can  you  be  one  of 
those  who  seduce  a  woman,  and  then  throw  her  over, 
through  sheer  caprice?  " 

He  became  pale,  and  renewed  his  arguments;  he 
pointed  out  to  her  the  inevitable  consequences  of  such  an 
action  to  both  of  them  as  long  as  they  lived  —  how 
their  lives  would  be  shattered  and  how  the  world  would 
shut  its  doors  against  them.  She  replied  obstinately: 
"What  does  it  matter  when  we  love  each  other?" 
Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  burst  out  furiously : 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  not.  No  —  do  you  understand? 
I  will  not  do  it,  and  I  forbid  you  to  do  it."  Then,  car- 
ried away  by  the  rancorous  feeling  which  had  seethed 
within  him  so  long,  he  relieved  his  heart: 

"  Ah,  damn  it  all,  you  have  now  been  sticking  on  to 
me  for  a  long  time  In  spite  of  myself,  and  the  best 
thing  for  you  now  Is  to  take  yourself  off.  I'll  be  much 
obliged  if  you  do  so,  upon  my  honor!  " 

She  did  not  answer  him,  but  her  livid  countenance 
began  to  look  shriveled  up,  as  If  all  her  nerves  and 
muscles  had  been  twisted  out  of  shape.  And  she  went 
away  without  saying  good-bye. 

The  same  night  she  poisoned  herself. 

For  a  week  she  was  believed  to  be  In  a  hopeless  condi- 
tion. And  in  the  city  people  gossiped  about  the  case, 
and  pitied  her,  excusing  her  sin  on  account  of  the  vio- 
lence of  her  passion,  for  overstrained  emotions,  becom- 
ing heroic  through  their  Intensity,  always  obtain  for- 
giveness  for  whatever  Is   blameworthy  in  them.     A 


A  PASSION  347 

woman  who  kills  herself  Is,  so  to  speak,  not  an  adul- 
teress. x\nd  ere  long  there  was  a_  feeling  of  general 
reprobation  against  Lieutenant  Renoldi  for  refusing  to 
see  her  again  —  a  unanimous  sentiment  of  blame. 

It  was  a  matter  of  common  talk  that  he  had  deserted 
her,  betrayed  her,  ill-treated  her.  The  Colonel,  over- 
come by  compassion,  brought  his  officer  to  book  in  a 
quiet  way.  Paul  d'Henricol  called  on  his  friend: 
"  Deuce  take  it,  Renoldi,  it's  not  good  enough  to  let  a 
woman  die;  it's  not  the  right  thing  anyhow." 

The  other,  enraged,  told  him  to  hold  his  tongue, 
whereupon  d'Henricol  made  use  of  the  word  "  in- 
famy." The  result  was  a  duel,  Renoldi  was  wounded, 
to  the  satisfaction  of  everybody,  and  was  for  some  time 
confined  to  his  bed. 

She  heard  about  it,  and  only  loved  him  the  more 
for  it,  believing  that  it  was  on  her  account  he  had 
fought  the  duel ;  but,  as  she  was  too  ill  to  move,  she 
was  unable  to  see  him  again  before  the  departure  of 
the  regiment. 

He  had  been  three  months  in  Lille  when  he  received 
one  morning,  a  visit  from  the  sister  of  his  former  mis- 
tress. 

After  long  suffering  and  a  feeling  of  dejection,  which 
she  could  not  conquer,  Madame  Poincot's  life  was  now 
despaired  of,  and  she  merely  asked  to  see  him  for  a  min- 
ute, only  for  a  minute,  before  closing  her  eyes  for  ever. 

Absence  and  time  had  appeased  the  young  man's 
satiety  and  anger;  he  was  touched,  moved  to  tears,  and 
he  started  at  once  for  Havre. 

She  seemed  to  be  in  the  agonies  of  death.  They 
were  left  alone  together;  and  by  the  bedside  of  this 
woman  vv'hom  he  now  believed  to  be  dying,  and  whom 


348  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

he  blamed  himself  for  killing,  though  it  was  not  by 
his  own  hand,  he  was  fairly  crushed  with  grief.  He 
burst  out  sobbing,  embraced  her  with  tender,  passionate 
kisses,  more  lovingly  than  he  had  ever  done  in  the  past. 
He  murmured  in  a  broken  voice : 

"  No,  no,  you  shall  not  die !  You  shall  get  better ! 
We  shall  love  each  other  for  ever —  for  ever!  " 

She  said  in  faint  tones: 

"  Then  it  is  true.      You  do  love  me,  after  all?  " 

And  he,  in  his  sorrow  for  her  misfortunes,  swore, 
promised  to  wait  till  she  had  recovered,  and  full  of 
loving  pity,  kissed  again  and  again  the  emaciated  hands 
of  the  poor  woman  whose  heart  was  panting  with  fever- 
ish, irregular  pulsations. 

The  next  day  he  returned  to  the  garrison. 

Six  weeks  later  she  went  to  meet  him,  quite  old-look- 
ing, unrecognizable,  and  more  enamored  than  ever. 

In  his  condition  of  mental  prostration,  he  consented 
to  live  with  her.  Then,  when  they  remained  together 
as  if  they  had  been  legally  united,  the  same  colonel  who 
had  displayed  indignation  with  him  for  abandoning 
her,  objected  to  this  irregular  connection  as  being  in- 
compatible with  the  good  example  officers  ought  to 
give  in  a  regiment.  He  warned  the  lieutenant  on  the 
subject,  and  then  furiously  denounced  his  conduct,  so 
Renoldi  retired  from  the  army. 

He  went  to  live  in  a  village  on  the  shore  of  the 
Mediterranean,  the  classic  sea  of  lovers. 

And  three  years  passed.  Renoldi,  bent  under  the 
yoke,  was  vanquished,  and  became  accustomed  to  the 
woman's  persevering  devotion.  His  hair  had  now 
turned  white. 


A  PASSION  349 

He  looked  upon  himself  as  a  man  done  for,  gone 
under.  Henceforth,  he  had  no  hope,  no  ambition,  no 
satisfaction  in  life,  and  he  looked  forward  to  no  pleas- 
ure in  existence. 

But  one  morning  a  card  was  placed  in  his  hand,  with 
the  name — ''Joseph  Poincot,  Shipowner,  Havre." 

The  husband !  The  husband,  who  had  said  nothing, 
realizing  that  there  was  no  use  in  struggling  against 
the  desperate  obstinacy  of  women.      What  did  he  want? 

He  was  waiting  in  the  garden,  having  refused  to 
come  into  the  house.  He  bowed  politely,  but  would  not 
sit  down,  even  on  a  bench  in  a  gravel-path,  and  he  com- 
menced talking  clearly  and  slowly. 

"  Monsieur,  I  did  not  come  here  to  address  re- 
proaches to  you.  I  know  too  well  how  things  hap- 
pened. I  have  been  the  victim  of  —  we  have  been  the 
victims  of  —  a  kind  of  fatality.  I  would  never  have 
disturbed  you  in  your  retreat  if  the  situation  had  not 
changed.  I  have  two  daughters.  Monsieur.  One  of 
them,  the  elder,  loves  a  young  man,  and  is  loved  by 
him.  But  the  family  of  this  young  man  is  opposed 
to  the  marriage,  basing  their  objection  on  the  situation 
of  —  my  daughter's  mother.  I  have  no  feeling  of 
either  anger  or  spite,  but  I  love  my  children.  Monsieur. 
I  have,  therefore,  come  to  ask  my  wife  to  return  home. 
I  hope  that  to-day  she  will  consent  to  go  back  to  my 
house  —  to  her  own  house.  As  for  me,  I  will  make  a 
show  of  having  forgotten,  for — for  the  sake  of  my 
daughters." 

Renoldi  felt  a  w^ld  movement  in  his  heart,  and  he 
was  inundated  with  a  delirium  of  joy  like  a  condemned 
man  who  receives  a  pardon. 


350  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

He  stammered  :  "  Why,  yes  —  certainly,  Monsieur 
—  I  myself  —  be  assured  of  it — ^no  doubt  —  it  is 
right,  it  is  only  quite  right." 

This  time  M.  Poincot  no  longer  declined  to  sit  down. 

Renoldi  then  rushed  up  the  stairs,  and  pausing  at  the 
door  of  his  mistress's  room,  to  collect  his  senses,  en- 
tered gravely. 

"  There  is  somebody  below  waiting  to  see  you,"  he 
said.  "  'TIs  to  tell  you  something  about  your  daugh- 
ters." 

She  rose  up.  "  My  daughters  ?  What  about  them  ? 
They  are  not  dead?  " 

He  replied :  "  No ;  but  a  serious  situation  has  arisen, 
which  you  alone  can  settle." 

She  did  not  wait  to  hear  more,  but  rapidly  descended 
the  stairs. 

Then,  he  sank  down  on  a  chair,  greatly  moved,  and 
waited. 

He  waited  a  long  long  time.  Then  he  heard  angry 
voices  below  stairs,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  go  down. 

Madame  Poincot  was  standing  up  exasperated,  just 
on  the  point  of  going  away,  while  her  husband  had 
seized  hold  of  her  dress,  exclaiming:  "  But  remember 
that  you  are  destroying  our  daughters,  your  daughters, 
our  children !  " 

She  answered  stubbornly: 

"  I  will  not  go  back  to  you !  " 

Renoldi  understood  everything,  came  over  to  them 
in  a  state  of  great  agitation,  and  gasped: 

"  What,  does  she  refuse  to  go?  " 

She  turned  towards  him,  and,  with  a  kind  of  shame- 
facedness,  addressed  him  without  any  familiarity  of 
tone,  In  the  presence  of  her  legitimate  husband,  said: 


A  PASSION  351 

"  Do  you  know  what  he  asks  me  to  do?  He  wants 
me  to  go  back,  and  hve  under  one  roof  with  him !  " 

And  she  tittered  with  a  profound  disdain  for  this 
man,  who  was  appeahng  to  her  almost  on  his  knees. 

Then  Renoldi,  with  the  determination  of  a  desperate 
man  playing  his  last  card,  began  talking  to  her  in  his 
turn,  and  pleaded  the  cause  of  the  poor  girls,  the  cause 
of  the  husband,  his  own  cause.  And  when  he  stopped, 
trying  to  find  some  fresh  argument,  M.  Poincot,  at  his 
wits'  end,  murmured,  in  the  affectionate  style  in  which 
he  used  to  speak  to  her  in  days  gone  by: 

"Look  here,  Delphine!  Think  of  your  daugh- 
ters!" 

Then  she  turned  on  both  of  them  a  glance  of  sov- 
ereign contempt,  and,  after  that,  flying  with  a  bound 
towards  the  staircase,  she  flung  at  them  these  scornful 
words : 

"  You  are  a  pair  of  wretches !  " 

Left  alone,  they  gazed  at  each  other  for  a  moment, 
both  equally  crestfallen,  equally  crushed.  M.  Poincot 
picked  up  his  hat,  which  had  fallen  down  near  where 
he  sat,  dusted  off  his  knees  the  signs  of  kneeling  on  the 
floor,  then  raising  both  hands  sorrowfully,  while  Re- 
noldi was  seeing  him  to  the  door,  remarked  with  a 
parting  bow: 

"  We  are  very  unfortunate,  Monsieur." 

Then  he  walked  away  from  the  house  with  a  heav^^ 
step. 


NO  QUARTER 

THE  broad  sunlight  threw  its  burning  rays  on 
the  fields,  and  under  this  shower  of  Harae  life 
burst  forth  in  glowing  vegetation  from  the 
earth.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  the  soil  was  green ; 
and  the  sky  was  blue  to  the  verge  of  the  horizon.  The 
Norman  farms  scattered  through  the  plain  seemed  at 
a  distance  like  little  doors  enclosed  each  in  a  circle  of 
thin  beech  trees.  Coming  closer,  on  opening  the  worm- 
eaten  stile,  one  fancied  that  he  saw  a  giant  garden,  for 
all  the  old  apple-trees,  as  knotted  as  the  peasants,  were 
in  blossom.  The  weather-beaten  black  trunks,  crooked, 
twisted,  ranged  along  the  enclosure,  displayed  beneath 
the  sky  their  glittering  domes,  rosy  and  white.  The 
sweet  perfume  of  their  blossoms  mingled  with  the  heavy 
odors  of  the  open  stables  and  with  the  fumes  of  the 
steaming  dunghill,  covered  with  hens  and  their  chickens. 
It  w^as  midday.  The  family  sat  at  dinner  in  the  shadow 
of  the  pear-tree  planted  before  the  door  —  the  father, 
the  mother,  the  four  children,  the  two  maid-servants, 
and  the  three  farm  laborers.  They  scarcely  uttered  a 
word.  Their  fare  consisted  of  soup  and  of  a  stew 
composed  of  potatoes  mashed  up  in  lard. 

From  time  to  time  one  of  the  maid-servants  rose  up 
and  went  to  the  cellar  to  fetch  a  pitcher  of  cider. 

The  husband,  a  big  fellow  of  about  forty,  stared  at 
a  vine-tree,  quite  exposed  to  view,  which  stood  close 
to  the  farm-house  tv/mlng  like  a  serpent  under  the  shut- 
ters the  entire  length  of  the  wall. 

352 


NO  QUARTER  353 

He  said,  after  a  long  silence: 

"  The  father's  vine-tree  is  blossoming  early  this 
year.      Perhaps  it  will  bear  good  fruit." 

The  peasant's  wife  also  turned  round,  and  gazed  at 
the  tree  without  speaking. 

This  vine-tree  was  planted  exactly  in  the  place  where 
the  father  of  the  peasant  had  been  shot. 

It  was  during  the  war  of  1870.  The  Prussians  were 
in  occupation  of  the  entire  country.  General  Faid- 
herbe,  with  the  Army  of  the  North,  was  at  their  head. 

Now  the  Prussian  staff  had  taken  up  its  quarters  in 
this  farm-house.  The  old  peasant  who  owned  it,  Pere 
Milon  Pierre,  received  them,  and  gave  them  the  best 
treatment  he  could. 

For  a  whole  month  the  German  vanguard  remained 
on  the  look-out  in  the  village.  The  French  were  posted 
ten  leagues  away  without  moving;  and  yet  each  night, 
some  of  the  Uhlans  disappeared. 

All  the  isolated  scouts,  those  who  were  sent  out  on 
patrol,  whenever  they  started  in  groups  of  two  or 
three,  never  came  back. 

They  were  picked  up  dead  in  the  morning  in  a  field, 
near  a  farm-yard,  in  a  ditch.  Their  horses  even  were 
found  lying  on  the  roads  with  their  throats  cut  by  a 
saber-stroke.  These  murders  seemed  to  have  been  ac- 
complished by  the  same  men,  who  could  not  be  discov- 
ered. 

The  country  was  terrorized.  Peasants  were  shot  on 
mere  information,  women  were  imprisoned,  attempts 
were  made  to  obtain  revelations  from  children  by  fear. 

But,  one  morning,  Pere  Milon  was  found  stretched 

In  his  stable,  with  a  gash  across  his  face. 
.  V— 23 


354  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Two  Uhlans  ripped  open  were  seen  lying  three  kilo- 
meters away  from  the  farm-house.  One  of  them  still 
grasped  in  his  hand  his  blood-stained  weapon.  He  had 
fought  and  defended  himself, 

A  council  of  war  having  been  immediately  consti- 
tuted, in  the  open  air,  in  front  of  the  farm-house,  the 
old  man  was  brought  before  it. 

He  was  sixty-eight  years  old.  He  was  small,  thin, 
a  little  crooked,  with  long  hands  resembling  the  claws 
of  a  crab.  His  faded  hair,  scanty  and  slight,  like  the 
down  on  a  young  duck,  allowed  his  scalp  to  be  plainly 
seen.  The  brown,  crimpled  skin  of  his  neck  showed 
the  big  veins  which  sank  under  his  jaws  and  reappeared 
at  his  temples.  He  was  regarded  in  the  district  as  a 
miser  and  a  hard  man  in  business  transactions. 

He  was  placed  standing  between  four  soldiers  in 
front  of  the  kitchen  table,  which  had  been  carried  out 
of  the  house  for  the  purpose.  Five  officers  and  the 
Colonel  sat  facing  him.  The  Colonel  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  Pere  Milon,"  he  said,  in  French,  "  since  we  came 
here,  we  have  had  nothing  to  say  of  you  but  praise. 
You  have  always  been  obliging,  and  even  considerate 
towards  us.  But  to-day  a  terrible  accusation  rests  on 
you,  and  the  matter  must  be  cleared  up.  How  did  you 
get  the  wound  on  your  face?  " 

The  peasant  gave  no  reply. 

The  Colonel  went  on : 

"  Your  silence  condemns  you,  Pere  Milon.  But  I 
want  you  to  answer  me,  do  you  understand.  Do  you 
know  who  has  killed  the  two  Uhlans  who  were  found 
this  morning  near  the  cross-roads?" 


NO  QUARTER  355 

The  old  man  said  in  a  clear  voice: 

"  It  was  I !  " 

The  Colonel,  surprised,  remained  silent  for  a  second, 
looking  steadfastly  at  the  prisoner.  Pere  Milon  main- 
tained his  impassive  demeanor,  his  air  of  rustic  stupid- 
ity, with  downcast  eyes,  as  if  he  were  talking  to  his  cure. 
There  was  only  one  thing  that  could  reveal  his  internal 
agitation,  the  way  in  which  he  slowly  swallowed  his 
saliva  with  a  visible  effort,  as  if  he  were  choking. 

The  old  peasant's  family  —  his  son  Jean,  his  daugh- 
ter-in-law, and  two  little  children  stood  ten  paces  behind 
scared  and  dismayed. 

The  Colonel  continued : 

"  Do  you  know  also  who  killed  all  the  scouts  of  our 
Army,  whom  we  have  found  every  morning,  for  the  past 
month,  lying  here  and  there  in  the  fields?  " 

The  old  man  answered  with  the  same  brutal  im- 
passiveness: 

"  It  was  I !  " 

"  It  is  you,  then,  that  killed  them  all?  " 

"  All  of  them  —  yes,  it  was  I." 

"You  alone?" 

"  I  alone." 

"  Tell  me  the  way  you  managed  to  do  it?  " 

This  time  the  peasant  appeared  to  be  affected;  the 
necessity  of  speaking  at  some  length  incommoded  him. 

"  I  know  myself.      I  did  it  the  way  I  found  easiest." 

The  Colonel  proceeded: 

"  I  warn  you,  you  must  tell  me  everything.  You 
will  do  well,  therefore,  to  make  up  your  mind  about  it 
at  once.      How  did  you  begin  it?  " 

The  peasant  cast  an  uneasy  glance  towards  his  fam- 


356  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

ily,  who  remained  in  a  listening  attitude  behind  him. 
He  hesitated  for  another  second  or  so,  then  all  of  a  sud- 
den, he  came  to  a  resolution  on  the  matter. 

"  I  came  home  one  night  about  ten  o'clock  and  the 
next  day  you  were  here.  You  and  your  soldiers  gave 
me  fifty  crowns  for  forage  with  a  cow  and  two  sheep. 
Said  I  to  myself:  '  As  long  as  I  get  twenty  crowns  out 
of  them,  I'll  sell  them  the  value  of  it.'  But  then  I  had 
other  things  in  my  heart,  which  I'll  tell  you  about  now. 
I  came  across  one  of  your  cavalrymen  smoking  his  pipe 
near  my  dike,  just  behind  my  barn.  I  went  and  took 
my  scythe  off  the  hook,  and  I  came  back  with  short 
steps  from  behind,  while  he  lay  there  without  hearing 
anything.  And  I  cut  off  his  head  with  one  stroke,  like 
a  feather,  while  he  only  said  '  Oof!  '  You  have  only  to 
look  at  the  bottom  of  the  pond;  you'll  find  him  there 
in  a  coal-bag,  with  a  big  stone  tied  to  it. 

"  I  got  an  idea  into  my  head.  I  took  all  he  had  on 
him  from  his  boots  to  his  cap,  and  I  hid  them  in  the 
bake-house  in  the  Martin  wood  behind  the  farm-yard." 

The  old  man  stopped.  The  officers,  speechless, 
looked  at  one  another.  The  examination  was  resumed, 
and  this  is  what  they  were  told. 

Once  he  had  accomplished  this  murder,  the  peasant 
lived  with  only  one  thought :  "  To  kill  the  Prussians  !  " 
He  hated  them  with  the  sly  and  ferocious  hatred  of  a 
countryman  who  was  at  the  same  time  covetous  and 
patriotic.  He  had  got  an  idea  into  his  head,  as  he  put 
it.      He  waited  for  a  few  days. 

He  was  allowed  to  go  and  come  freely,  to  go  out  and 
return   just    as   he    pleased,    as   long   as   he    displayed 


NO  QUARTER  357 

humility,  submissiveness,  and  complaisance  towards  the 
conquerors. 

Now,  e^'ery  evening  he  saw  the  cavalrymen  bearing 
dispatches  leaving  the  farmhouse;  and  he  went  out  one 
night  after  discovering  the  name  of  the  village  to  which 
thev  v^-ere  going,  and  after  picking  up  by  associating 
with  the  soldiers  the  few  words  of  German  he  needed. 

He  made  his  way  through  his  farm-yard  slipped  into 
the  wood,  reached  the  bake-house,  penetrated  to  the  end 
of  the  long  passage,  and  having  found  the  clothes  of  the 
soldier  which  he  had  hidden  there,  he  put  them  on. 
Then,  he  went  prowling  about  the  fields,  creeping  along, 
keeping  to  the  slopes  so  as  to  avoid  observation,  listen- 
ing to  the  least  sounds,  restless  as  a  poacher. 

When  he  believed  the  time  had  arrived  he  took  up  his 
position  at  the  roadside,  and  hid  himself  in  a  clump  of 
brushwood.  He  still  waited.  At  length,  near  mid- 
night, he  heard  the  galloping  of  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the 
hard  soil  of  the  road.  The  old  man  put  his  car  to  the 
ground  to  make  sure  that  only  one  cavalryman  was  ap- 
proaching; then  he  got  ready. 

The  Uhlan  came  on  at  a  very  quick  pace,  carrying 
some  dispatches.  He  rode  forward  with  watchful  eyes 
and  strained  ears.  As  soon  as  he  was  no  more  than  ten 
paces  away,  Pere  Milon  dragged  himself  across  the 
road,  groaning:      "Hilfe!  Hilfe!"  ("Help!  help!") 

The  cavalryman  drew  up,  recognized  a  German  sol- 
dier dismounted,  believed  that  he  was  wounded,  leaped 
down  from  his  horse,  drew  near  the  prostrate  man, 
never  suspecting  anything,  and,  as  he  stooped  over  the 
stranger,  he  received  in  the  middle  of  the  stomach  the 
long  curved  blade  of  the  saber.     He  sank  down  without 


358  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

any  death  throes,  merely  quivering  with  a  few  last  shud- 
ders. 

Then,  the  Norman  radiant  with  the  mute  joy  of  an 
old  peasant,  rose  up,  and  merely  to  please  himself,  cut 
the  dead  soldier's  throat.  After  that,  he  dragged  the 
corpse  to  the  dike  and  threw  it  in. 

The  horse  was  quietly  waiting  for  its  rider.  Pere 
Milon  got  on  the  saddle,  and  started  across  the  plain 
at  the  gallop. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour,  he  perceived  two  more  Uhlans 
approaching  the  staff-quarters  side  by  side.  He  rode 
straight  towards  them,  crying,  "  Hllfe !  hllfe!"  The 
Prussians  let  him  come  on,  recognizing  the  uniform 
without  any  dlstiiist. 

And  like  a  cannon-ball,  the  old  man  shot  between  the 
two,  bringing  both  of  them  to  the  ground  with  his  saber 
and  a  revolver.  The  next  thing  he  did  was  to  cut  the 
throats  of  the  horses  —  the  German  horses !  Then, 
softly  he  re-entered  the  bake-house,  and  hid  the  horse 
he  had  ridden  himself  In  the  dark  passage.  There  he 
took  off  the  uniform,  put  on  once  more  his  own  old 
clothes,  and  going  to  his  bed,  slept  till  morning. 

For  four  days  he  did  not  stir  out,  awaiting  the  close 
of  the  open  Inquiry  as  to  the  cause  of  the  soldiers' 
deaths;  but,  on  the  fifth  day,  he  started  out  again,  and 
by  a  similar  stratagem  killed  two  more  soldiers. 

Thenceforth  he  never  stopped.  Each  night  he  wan- 
dered about,  prowled  through  the  country  at  random, 
cutting  down  some  Prussians,  sometimes  here,  some- 
times there,  galloping  through  the  deserted  fields  under 
the  moonlight,  a  lost  Uhlan,  a  hunter  of  men.  Then 
when  he  had  finished  his  task,  leaving  behind  the 
corpses  lying  along  the  roads,  the  old  horseman  went 


NO  QUARTER  359 

to  the  bake-house,  where  he  concealed  both  the  animal 
and  the  uniform.  About  midday  he  calmly  returned 
to  the  spot  to  give  the  horse  a  feed  of  oats  and  some 
water,  and  he  took  every  care  of  the  animal,  exacting 
therefore  the  hardest  work. 

But;  the  night  before  his  arrest,  one  of  the  soldiers 
he  attacked  put  himself  on  his  guard,  and  cut  the  old 
peasant's  face  with  a  slash  of  a  saber. 

He  had,  howe\-er,  killed  both  of  them.  He  had 
even  managed  to  go  back  and  hide  his  horse  and  put 
on  his  everyday  garb,  but,  when  he  reached  the  stable, 
he  was  overcome  by  weakness,  and  was  not  able  to 
m  -ke  his  way  into  the  house. 

He  had  been  found  lying  on  the  straw,  his  face 
covered  with  blood. 

•  •  ■  •  •  • 

When  he  had  finished  his  story,  he  suddenly  lifted 
his  head,  and  glanced  proudly  at  the  Prussian  officers. 

The  Colonel,  tugging  at  his  moustache,  asked: 

"  Have  you  anything  more  to  say?  " 

"  No,  nothing  more;  we  are  quits.  I  killed  sixteen, 
not  one  more,  not  one  less." 

"  You  know  you  have  to  die?  " 

"  I  ask  for  no  quarter!  " 

"  Have  you  been  a  soldier?  " 

"  Yes,  I  served  at  one  time.  And  'tis  you  killed 
my  father,  who  was  a  soldier  of  the  first  Emperor,  not 
to  speak  of  my  youngest  son,  Francois,  whom  you 
killed  last  month  near  Exreux.  I  owed  this  to  you, 
and  I've  paid  you  back.      'Tis  tit  for  tatl  " 

The  officers  stared  at  one  another. 

The  old  man  went  on  : 

*'  Eight  for  my  father,  eight  for  my  son  —  that  pays 


36o  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

It  off !  I  sought  for  no  quarrel  with  you.  I  don't 
know  you !  I  only  know  where  you  came  from.  You 
came  to  my  house  here,  and  ordered  me  about  as  if  the 
house  was  yours.  I  have  had  my  revenge,  and  I'm 
glad  of  it!" 

And  stiffening  up  his  old  frame,  he  folded  his  arms 
in  the  attitude  of  a  humble  hero. 

The  Prussians  held  a  long  conference.  A  captain, 
who  had  also  lost  a  son  the  month  before,  defended 
the  brave  old  scoundrel. 

Then  the  Colonel  rose  up,  and,  advancing  towards 
Pere  Milon,  he  said,  lowering  his  voice: 

"Listen,  old  man!  There  is  perhaps  one  way  of 
saving  your  life  —  it  is  — " 

But  the  old  peasant  was  not  listening  to  him,  and 
fixing  his  eyes  directly  on  the  German  officer,  while 
the  wind  made  the  scanty  hair  move  to  and  fro  on  his 
skull,  he  made  a  frightful  grimace,  which  shriveled 
up  his  pinched  countenance  scarred  by  the  saber-stroke, 
and,  puffing  out  his  chest,  he  spat,  with  all  his  strength, 
right  into  the  Prussian's  face. 

The  Colonel,  stupefied,  raised  his  hand,  and  for  the 
second  time  the  peasant  spat  in  his  face. 

All  the  officers  sprang  to  their  feet  and  yelled  out 
orders  at  the  same  time. 

In  less  than  a  minute,  the  old  man,  still  as  impassive 
as  ever,  was  stuck  up  against  the  wall,  and  shot  while 
he  cast  a  smile  at  Jean,  his  eldest  son,  and  then  at  his 
daughter-in-law  and  the  two  children,  who  were  staring 
with  terror  at  the  scene. 


THE    IMPOLITE    SEX 

Madame  de  X.  to  Madame  de  L. 

Etretat,  Friday. 

MY  dear  Aunt, —  I  am  going  to  pay  you  a  visit 
without  making  much  fuss  about  it.  I  shall 
be  at  Les  Fresnes  on  the  2nd  of  September, 
the  day  before  the  hunting  season  opens,  as  I  do  not 
want  to  miss  it,  so  that  I  may  tease  these  gentlemen. 
You  are  very  obliging,  aunt,  and  I  would  hke  you  to  al- 
low them  to  dine  with  you,  as  you  usually  do  when  there 
are  no  strange  guests,  without  dressing  or  shaving  for 
the  occasion,  on  the  ground  that  they  are  fatigued. 

They  are  delighted,  of  course,  when  I  am  not 
present.  But  I  shall  be  there,  and  I  shall  hold  a  re- 
view, like  a  general,  at  the  dinner-hour;  and,  if  I  find 
a  single  one  of  them  at  all  careless  in  dress,  no  matter 
how  little,  I  mean  to  send  him  down  to  the  kitchen  to 
the  servant-maids. 

The  men  of  to-day  have  so  little  consideration  for 
others  and  so  little  good  manners  that  one  must  be  al- 
ways severe  with  them.  We  live  indeed  in  an  age  of 
vulgarity.  When  they  quarrel  with  one  another,  they 
attack  one  another  with  insults  worthy  of  street-porters, 
and,  in  our  presence,  they  do  not  conduct  themselves 
even  as  well  as  our  servants.  It  is  at  the  seaside  that 
you  see  this  most  clearly.  They  are  to  be  found  there 
in   battalions,   and  you   can   judge   them   in   the   lump. 

Oh!  what  coarse  beings  they  are! 

Just  imagine  in  a  train,  one  of  them,  a  gentleman 

361 


362  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

who  looked  well,  as  I  thought,  at  first  sight,  thanks 
to  his  tailor,  was  dainty  enough  to  take  off  his  boots  in 
order  to  put  on  a  pair  of  old  shoes!  Another,  an  old 
man,  who  was  probably  some  wealthy  upstart  (these 
are  the  most  ill-bred),  while  sitting  opposite  to  me,  had 
the  delicacy  to  place  his  two  feet  on  the  seat  quite  close 
to  me.     This  is  a  positive  fact. 

At  the  water-places,  there  is  an  unrestrained  out- 
pouring of  unmannerliness.  I  must  here  make  one 
admission  —  that  my  indignation  is  perhaps  due  to  the 
fact  that  I  am  not  accustomed  to  associate,  as  a  rule, 
with  the  sort  of  people  one  comes  across  here,  for  I 
should  be  less  shocked  by  their  manners  if  I  had  the  op- 
portunity of  observing  them  oftener.  In  the  inquiry- 
office  of  the  hotel,  I  was  nearly  thrown  down  by  a 
young  man  who  snatched  the  key  over  my  head. 
Another  knocked  against  me  so  violently  without  beg- 
ging my  pardon  or  lifting  his  hat,  coming  away  from  a 
ball  at  the  Casino,  that  he  gave  me  a  pain  in  the  chest. 
It  Is  the  same  way  with  all  of  them.  Watch  them  ad- 
dressing ladies  on  the  terrace;  they  scarcely  ever  bow. 
They  merely  raise  their  hands  to  their  head-gear.  But 
indeed,  as  they  are  all  more  or  less  bald,  it  is  their  best 
plan. 

But  what  exasperates  and  disgusts  me  specially  Is  the 
liberty  they  take  of  talking  publicly  without  any  pre- 
caution whatsoever  about  the  most  revolting  adven- 
tures. When  two  men  are  together,  they  relate  to  each 
other,  in  the  broadest  language  and  with  the  most 
abominable  comments  really  horrible  stories  without 
caring  In  the  slightest  degree  whether  a  woman's  ear  Is 
within  reach  of  their  voices.     Yesterday,  on  the  beach 


THE  IMPOLITE  SEX  363 

I  was  forced  to  go  away  from  the  place  where  I  sat  in 
order  not  to  be  any  longer  the  involuntary  confidante  of 
an  obscene  anecdote,  told  in  such  immodest  language 
that  I  felt  just  as  much  humiliated  as  indignant  at  hav- 
ing heard  it.  Would  not  the  most  elementary  good- 
breeding  hav^e  taught  them  to  speak  in  a  lower  tone 
about  such  matters  when  we  are  near  at  hand.  Etretat 
is,  moreover,  the  country  of  gossip  and  scandal.  From 
five  to  seven  o'clock  you  can  see  people  wandering 
about  in  quest  of  nasty  stories  about  others  which  they 
retail  from  group  to  group.  As  you  remarked  to  me, 
my  dear  aunt,  tittle-tattle  is  the  mark  of  petty  individ- 
uals and  petty  minds.  It  is  also  the  consolation  of 
women  who  are  no  longer  loved  or  sought  after.  It  is 
enough  for  me  to  observe  the  women  who  are  fondest 
of  gossiping  to  be  persuaded  that  you  are  quite  right. 

The  other  day  I  was  present  at  a  musical  evening 
at  the  Casino,  given  by  a  remarkable  artist,  Madame 
Masson,  who  sings  in  a  truly  delightful  manner.  I 
took  the  opportunity  of  applauding  the  admirable 
Coquelin,  as  well  as  two  charming  boarders  of  the 
Vaudeville,  M —  and  Meillet.  I  was  able,  on  the  oc- 
casion, to  see  all  the  bathers  collected  together  this  year 
on  the  beach.  There  were  not  many  persons  of  dis- 
tinction among  them. 

Next  day  I  went  to  lunch  at  Yport.  I  noticed  a  tall 
man  with  a  beard  who  was  coming  out  of  a  large  house 
like  a  castle.  It  was  the  painter,  Jean  Paul  Laurens. 
He  is  not  satisfied  apparently  with  imprisoning  the  sub- 
jects of  his  pictures  he  insists  on  imprisoning  himself. 

Then,  I  found  myself  seated  on  the  shingle  close  to  a 
man  still  young,  of  gentle  and  refined  appearance,  who 


364  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

was  reading  some  verses.  But  he  read  them  with 
such  concentration,  with  such  passion,  I  may  say,  that 
he  did  not  even  raise  his  eyes  towards  me.  I  was 
somewhat  astonished,  and  I  asked  the  conductor  of  the 
baths  without  appearing  to  be  much  concerned,  the 
name  of  this  gentleman.  I  laughed  inwardly  a  little  at 
this  reader  of  rhymes:  he  seemed  behind  the  age,  for 
a  man.  This  person,  I  thought,  must  be  a  simpleton. 
Well,  aunt,  I  am  now  infatuated  about  this  stranger. 
Just  fancy,  his  name  is  Sully  Prudhomme !  I  turned 
round  to  look  at  him  at  my  ease,  just  where  I  sat.  His 
face  possesses  the  two  qualities  of  calmness  and 
elegance.  As  somebody  came  to  look  for  him,  I  was 
able  to  hear  his  voice,  which  is  sweet  and  almost  timid. 
He  would  certainly  not  tell  obscene  stories  aloud  in 
public,  or  knock  against  ladies  without  apologizing. 
He  is  sure  to  be  a  man  of  refinement,  but  his  refine- 
ment is  of  an  almost  morbid,  vibrating  character.  I 
will  try  this  winter  to  get  an  introduction  to  him. 

I  have  no  more  news  to  tell  you,  my  dear  aunt,  and 
I  must  interrupt  this  letter  in  haste,  as  the  post-hour  is 
near.  I  kiss  your  hands  and  your  cheeks. —  Your 
devoted  niece, 

Berthe  De  X. 

P.  S. —  I  should  add,  however,  by  way  of  justifica- 
tion of  French  politeness,  that  our  fellow-countrymen 
are,  when  traveling,  models  of  good  manners  in  com- 
parison with  the  abominable  English,  who  seem  to 
have  been  brought  up  by  stable-boys,  so  much  do  they 
take  care  not  to  incommode  themselves  in  any  way, 
while  they  always  incommode  their  neighbors. 


THE  IMPOLITE  SEX  365 

Madame  de  L.  to  Madame  de  X. 

Les  Fresnes,  Saturday. 

My  Dear  Child, —  Many  of  the  things  you  have  said 
to  me  are  very  reasonable,  but  that  does  not  prevent 
you  from  being  wrong.  Like  you,  I  used  formerly  to 
feel  very  indignant  at  the  impoliteness  of  men,  who, 
as  I  supposed,  constantly  treated  me  with  neglect;  but, 
as  I  grew  older  and  reflected  on  everything,  putting 
aside  coquetry,  and  observing  things  without  taking 
any  part  in  them  myself,  I  perceived  this  much  —  that 
if  men  are  not  always  polite,  w^omen  are  always  inde- 
scribably rude. 

We  imagine  that  we  should  be  permitted  to  do  any- 
thing, my  darling,  and  at  the  same  time  we  consider 
that  we  have  a  right  to  the  utmost  respect,  and  in  the 
most  flagrant  manner  we  commit  actions  devoid  of  that 
elementary  good-breeding  ot  which  you  speak  with 
passion. 

I  find,  on  the  contrary,  that  men  have,  for  us,  much 
consideration,  as  compared  with  our  bearing  towards 
them.  Besides,  darling,  men  must  needs  be,  and  are, 
what  we  make  them.  In  a  state  of  society,  where 
women  are  all  true  gentlewomen,  all  men  would  be- 
come gentlemen. 

Mark  my  words;  just  observe  and  reflect. 

Look  at  two  women  meeting  in  the  street.  What 
an  attitude  each  assumes  towards  the  other!  What 
disparaging  looks !  What  contempt  they  throw  into 
each  glance!  How  they  toss  their  heads  while  they 
inspect  each  other  to  find  something  to  condemn ! 
And,  if  the  footpath  is  narrow,  do  you  think  one 
woman   would   make   room    for   another,   or   will   beg 


366  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

pardon  as  she  sweeps  by  ?  Never !  When  two  men 
jostle  each  other  by  accident  In  some  narrow  lane,  each 
of  them  bows  and  at  the  same  time  gets  out  of  the 
other's  way,  while  we  women  press  against  each  other 
stomach  to  stomach,  face  to  face,  insolently  staring' 
each  other  out  of  countenance. 

Look  at  two  women  who  are  acquaintances  meeting 
on  a  stair  case  before  the  drawing-room  door  of  a 
friend  of  theirs  to  whom  one  has  just  paid  a  visit,  and 
to  whom  the  other  is  about  to  pay  a  visit.  They  be- 
gin to  talk  to  each  other,  and  block  up  the  passage. 
If  anyone  happens  to  be  coming  up  behind  them,  man 
or  woman,  do  you  imagine  that  they  will  put  themselves 
half-an-inch  out  of  their  way?     Never!  never! 

I  was  waiting  myself,  with  my  watch  in  my  hands, 
one  day  last  winter,  at  a  certain  drawing-room  door. 
And  behind  two  gentlemen  were  also  waiting  without 
showing  any  readiness  to  lose  their  temper,  like  me. 
The  reason  was  that  they  had  long  grown  accustomed  to 
our  unconscionable  insolence. 

The  other  day,  before  leaving  Paris,  I  went  to  dine 
with  no  less  a  person  than  your  husband  in  the  Champs 
Elysees  in  order  to  enjoy  the  open  air.  Every  table 
was  occupied.  The  waiter  asked  us  not  to  go,  and 
there  would  soon  be  a  vacant  table. 

At  that  moment,  I  noticed  an  elderly  lady  of  noble 
figure,  who,  having  paid  the  amount  of  her  docket, 
seemed  on  the  point  of  going  away.  She  saw  me, 
scanned  me  from  head  to  foot,  and  did  not  budge. 
For  more  than  a  full  quarter-of-an-hour  she  sat  there, 
immovable,  putting  on  her  gloves,  and  calmly  staring  at 
those  who  were  waiting  like  myself.  Now,  two  young 
men  who  were  just  finishing  their  dinner,  having  seen 


THE  IMPOLITE  SEX  367 

me  In  their  turn,  quickly  summoned  the  waiter  In  order 
to  pay  whatever  they  owed,  and  at  once  offered  me  their 
seats,  even  Insisting  on  standing  while  waiting  for 
their  change.  And,  bear  In  mind,  my  fair  niece, 
that  I  am  no  longer  pretty,  like  you,  but  old  and  white- 
haired. 

It  Is  we  (do  you  see?)  who  should  be  taught  polite- 
ness, and  the  task  would  be  such  a  difficult  one  that  Her- 
cules himself  would  not  be  equal  to  it.  You  speak  to 
me  about  Etretat,  and  about  the  people  who  Indulged 
In  "  tittle-tattle  "  along  the  beach  of  that  delightful 
watering-place.  It  Is  a  spot  now  lost  to  me,  a  thing  of 
the  past,  but  I  found  much  amusement  there  In  days 
gone  by. 

There  were  only  a  few  of  us,  people  in  good  society, 
really  good  society,  and  a  few  artists,  and  we  all  fra- 
ternized. We  paid  little  attention  to  gossip  In  those 
days. 

Well,  as  we  had  no  insipid  Casino,  where  people  only 
gather  for  show,  where  they  talk  in  whispers,  where 
they  dance  stupidly,  where  they  succeed  in  thoroughly 
boring  one  another,  we  sought  some  other  way  of  pass- 
ing our  evenings  pleasantly.  Now,  just  guess  what 
came  into  the  head  of  one  of  our  husbandry?  Noth- 
ing less  than  to  go  and  dance  each  night  in  one  of  the 
farm-houses  in  the  neighborhood. 

We  started  out  in  a  group  with  a  street-organ,  gen- 
erally played  by  Le  Polttevin,  the  painter,  with  a  cotton 
nightcap  on  his  head.  Two  men  carried  lanterns. 
We  followed  in  procession,  laughing  and  chattering 
like  a  pack  of  fools. 

We  woke  up  the  farmer  and  his  servant-maids  and 
laboring    men.     We    got    them    to    make    onion-soup 


368  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

(horror!),  and  we  danced  under  the  apple-trees,  to  the 
sound  of  the  barrel-organ.  The  cocks  waking  up  be- 
gan to  crow  in  the  darkness  of  the  out-houses;  the 
horses  began  prancing  on  the  straw  of  their  stables. 
The  cool  air  of  the  country  caressed  our  cheeks  with  the 
smell  of  grass  and  of  new-mown  hay. 

How  long  ago  it  is!  How  long  ago  it  is.  It  is 
thirty  years  since  then  ! 

I  do  not  want  you,  my  darling,  to  come  for  the 
opening  of  the  hunting  season.  Why  spoil  the  pleas- 
ure of  our  friends  by  inflicting  on  them  fashionable 
toilets  on  this  day  of  vigorous  exercise  In  the  country? 
This  is  the  way,  child,  that  men  are  spoiled.  I  em- 
brace you, —  Your  old  aunt 

Genevieve  De  Z, 


WOMAN'S  WILES 

ccX^  TOMEN?" 

V/V/        "  Well,  what  do  you  say  about  women?  '* 
"     ^  "  Well,  there  arc  no  conjurors  more  sub- 

tle in  taking  us  in  at  every  available  opportunity  with  or 
without  reason,  often  for  the  sole  pleasure  of  playing 
tricks  on  us.  And  they  play  these  tricks  with  incredible 
simplicity,  astonishing  audacity,  unparalleled  ingenuity. 
They  play  tricks  from  morning  till  night,  and  they  all 
do  it  —  the  most  virtuous,  the  most  upright,  the  most 
sensible  of  them.  You  may  add  that  sometimes  they 
are  to  some  extent  driven  to  do  these  things.  Man 
has  always  idiotic  fits  of  obstinacy  and  tyrannical  de- 
sires. A  husband  is  continually  giving  ridiculous  or- 
ders in  his  own  house.  He  is  full  of  caprices;  his  wife 
plays  on  them  even  while  she  makes  use  of  them  for 
the  purpose  of  deception.  She  persuades  him  that  a 
thing  costs  so  much  because  he  would  kick  up  a  row  if 
its  price  were  higher.  And  she  always  extricates  her- 
self from  the  difficulty  cunningly  by  a  means  so  simple 
and  so  sly  that  we  gape  with  amazement  when  by  chance 
we  discover  them.  We  say  to  ourselves  in  a  stupefied 
state  of  mind  '  How  is  it  we  did  not  see  this  till 
now  : 

The  man  who  uttered  the  words  was  an  ex-Minister 
of  the  Empire,  the  Comte  de  L ,  a  thorough  prof- 
ligate, it  was  said,  and  a  very  accomplished  gentleman. 
A  group  of  young  men  were  listening  to  him. 
V— 24                      369 


370  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

He  went  on : 

"  I  was  outwitted  by  an  ordinary  uneducated  woman 
in  a  comic  and  thorough-going  fashion.  I  will  tell 
you  about  it  for  your  instruction. 

"  I  was  at  the  time  Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs,  and 
I  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  a  long  walk  every  morning 
in  the  Champs  Elysees.  It  was  the  month  of  May;  I 
walked  along,  sniffing  in  eagerly  that  sweet  odor  of 
budding  leaves. 

"  Ere  long,  I  noticed,  that  I  used  to  meet  every  day 
a  charming  little  woman,  one  of  those  marvelous, 
graceful  creatures,  who  bear  the  trade-mark  of  Paris. 
Pretty?  Well,  yes  and  no.  Well-made?  No,  bet- 
ter than  that:  her  waist  was  too  slight,  her  shoulders 
too  narrow,  her  breast  too  full,  no  doubt;  but  I  prefer 
those  exquisite  human  dolls  to  that  great  statuesque 
corpse,  the  Venus  of  Milo. 

"  And  then  this  sort  of  woman  trots  along  in  an  in- 
comparable fashion,  and  the  very  rustle  of  her  skirt 
fills  the  marrow  of  your  bones  with  desire.  She  seemed 
to  give  me  a  side-glance  as  she  passed  me.  But  these 
women  give  you  all  sorts  of  looks  —  you  never  can 
tell     ... 

"  One  morning,  I  saw  her  sitting  on  a  bench  with  an 
open  book  between  her  hands.  I  came  across,  and  sat 
down  beside  her.  Five  minutes  later,  we  were  friends. 
Then,  each  day,  after  the  smiling  salutation  '  Good 
day,  Madame,'  '  Good  day.  Monsieur,'  we  began  to 
chat.  She  told  me  that  she  was  the  wife  of  a  Govern- 
ment clerk,  that  her  life  was  a  sad  one,  that  in  it  pleas- 
ures were  few  and  cares  numerous,  and  a  thousand 
other  things. 

"  I  told  her  who  I  was,  partly  through  thoughtless- 


WOMAN'S  WILES  371 

ness,    and   partly   perhaps    through   vanity.      She    pre- 
tended to  be  much  astonished. 

"  Next  day,  she  called  at  the  Ministry  to  see  me;  and 
she  came  again  there  so  often  that  the  ushers,  having 
their  attention  drawn  to  her  appearance,  used  to 
whisper  to  one  another,  as  soon  as  they  saw  her,  the 
name  with  which  thev  had  christened  her  '  Madame 
Leon'  that  is  my  Christian  name. 

"  For  three  months  I  saw  her  every  morning  with- 
out growing  tired  of  her  for  a  second,  so  well  was  she 
able  incessantly  to  give  variety  and  piquancy  to  her 
physical  attractiveness.  But  one  day  I  saw  that  her  eyes 
were  bloodshot  and  glowing  with  suppressed  tears, 
that  she  could  scarcely  speak,  so  much  was  she  preoc- 
cupied with  secret  troubles. 

"  I  begged  of  her,  I  implored  of  her,  to  tell  me  what 
was  the  cause  of  her  agitation. 

"  She  faltered  out  at  length  with  a  shudder:  '  I  am 
—  I  am  pregnant !  ' 

"  And  she  burst  out  sobbing.  Oh!  I  made  a  dread- 
ful grimace,  and  I  have  no  doubt  I  turned  pale,  as  men 
generally  do  at  hearing  such  a  piece  of  news.  You 
cannot  conceive  what  an  unpleasant  stab  you  feel  in 
your  breast  at  the  announcement  of  an  unexpected 
paternity  of  this  kind.  But  you  are  sure  to  know  it 
sooner  or  later.  So,  in  my  turn,  I  gasped:  'But  — 
but  —  you  are  married,  are  you  not?' 

"She  answered:  'Yes,  but  my  husband  has  been 
away  in  Italy  for  the  last  two  months,  and  he  will  not 
be  back  for  some  time.' 

"  I  was  determined  at  any  cost  to  get  out  of  my  re- 
sponsibility. 

"  I  said :     '  You  must  go  and  join  him  immediately.' 


372  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"  She  reddened  to  her  very  temples,  and  with  down- 
cast eyes,  murmured :  '  Yes  —  but  — '  She  either  dared 
not  or  would  not  finish  the  sentence, 

"  I  understood,  and  I  prudently  enclosed  her  in  an 
envelope  the  expenses  of  the  journey. 

"  Eight  days  later,  she  sent  me  a  letter  from  Genoa. 
The  following  week,  I  received  one  from  Florence. 
Then  letters  reached  me  from  Leghorn,  Rome,  and 
Naples. 

"  She  said  to  me:  '  I  am  in  good  health,  my  dear 
love,  but  I  am  looking  frightful.  I  would  not  care  to 
have  you  see  me  till  it  is  all  over;  you  would  not  love 
me.  My  husband  suspects  nothing.  As  his  business 
in  this  country  will  require  him  to  stay  there  much 
longer,  I  will  not  return  to  France  till  after  my  con- 
finement.' 

"  And,  at  the  end  of  about  eight  months,  I  received 
from  Venice  these  few  words:  '  It  is  a  boy.' 

"  Some  time  after,  she  suddenly  entered  my  stuciy 
one  morning,  fresher  and  prettier  than  ever,  and  flung 
herself  into  my  arms. 

"  And  our  former  connection  was  renewed. 

"  I  left  the  Ministry,  and  she  came  to  live  in  my 
house  in  the  Rue  de  Grenelle.  She  often  spoke  to  me 
about  the  child,  but  I  scarcely  listened  to  what  she  said 
about  it;  it  did  not  concern  me.  Now  and  then  I 
placed  a  rather  large  sum  of  money  in  her  hand,  say- 
ing: '  Put  that  by  for  him.' 

"Two  more  years  glided  by;  and  she  was  more 
eager  to  tell  me  some  news  about  the  youngster  — 
'  about  Leon.' 


WOMAN'S  WILES  373 

"  Sometimes  she  would  say  in  the  midst  of  tears : 
'  You  don't  care  about  him;  you  don't  even  wish  to  see 
him.     If  you  know  what  grief  you  cause  me!  ' 

"  At  last  I  was  so  much  harassed  by  her  that  I 
promised,  one  day,  to  go,  next  morning,  to  the  Champs 
Elysees,  when  she  took  the  child  there  for  an  airing. 

"  But  at  the  moment  when  I  was  leaving  the  house, 
I  was  stopped  by  a  sudden  apprehension.  Man  is 
weak  and  foolish.  What  if  I  were  to  get  fond  of  this 
tiny  being  of  whom  I  was  the  father  —  my  son? 

"  I  had  my  hat  on  my  head,  my  gloves  in  my  hands. 
I  flung  down  the  gloves  on  my  desk,  and  my  hat  on  a 
chair: 

"No.  Decidedly  I  will  not  go;  it  is  wiser  not  to 
go.' 

"  My  door  flew  open.  My  brother  entered  the 
room.  He  handed  me  an  anonymous  letter  he  had 
received  that  morning: 

"  '  Warn  the  Comte  de  L ,  your  brother,  that 

the  little  woman  of  the  Rue  Casette  is  impudently 
laughing  at  him.  Let  him  make  some  inquiries  about 
her.' 

I  had  never  told  anybody  about  this  intrigue,  and 
I  now  told  my  brother  the  history  of  it  from  the  be- 
ginning to  the  end.      I  added: 

"  For  my  part,  I  don't  want  to  trouble  myself  any 
further  about  the  matter;  but  will  you,  like  a  good  fel- 
low, go  and  find  out  what  you  can  about  her? 

"When  my  brother  had  left  me,  I  said  to  myself: 
'In  what  wav  can  she  have  deceived  me?  She  has 
other  lov'ers?  What  does  it  matter  to  me?  She  is 
young,  fresh,  and  pretty;  I  ask  nothing  more  from  her. 


374  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

She  seems  to  love  me,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  does 
not  cost  me  much.  Really,  I  don'i  understand  this 
business.' 

"  My  brother  speedily  returned.  He  had  learned 
from  the  police  all  that  was  to  be  known  about  her 
husband:  'A  clerk  in  the  Home  Department,  of 
regular  habits  and  good  repute,  and,  moveover,  a  think- 
ing man,  but  married  to  a  very  pretty  woman,  whose 
expenses  seemed  somewhat  extravagant  for  her  modest 
position.'     That  was  all. 

"  Now,  my  brother  having  sought  for  her  at  her  resi- 
dence, and  finding  that  she  was  gone  out,  succeeded, 
with  the  assistance  of  a  little  gold,  in  making  the  door- 
keeper   chatter :    '  Madame    D ,    a    very    worthy 

woman,  and  her  husband  a  very  worthy  man,  not  proud, 
not  rich,  but  generous.' 

"  My  brother  asked  for  the  sake  of  saying  something : 

"  '  How  old  is  her  little  boy  now?  ' 

"  '  Why,  she  has  not  got  any  little  boy,  monsieur.' 

'"What?     Little  Leon?' 

"  '  No,  monsieur,  you  are  making  a  mistake.' 

"  '  I  mean  the  child  she  had  while  she  was  in  Italy, 
two  years  ago?  ' 

"  '  She  has  never  been  in  Italy,  monsieur;  she  has  not 
quitted  the  house  she  is  living  in  for  the  last  five  years.' 

"  My  brother,  in  astonishment,  questioned  the  door- 
keeper anew,  and  then  he  pushed  his  investigation  of 
the  matter  further.     No  child,  no  journey. 

"  I  was  prodigiously  astonished,  but  without  clearly 
understanding  the  final  meaning  of  this  comedy. 

"  '  I  want,'  said  I  to  him,  '  to  have  my  mind  per- 
fectly clear  about  the  affair.  I  will  ask  her  to  come 
here  to-morrow.     You  shall  receive  her  instead  of  me. 


WOMAN'S  WILES  375 

If  she  has  deceived  me,  you  will  hand  her  these  ten 
thousand  francs,  and  I  will  never  see  her  again.  In 
fact,  I  am  beginning  to  find  I  have  had  enough  of 
her.' 

"Would  you  believe  it?  I  had  been  grieved  the 
night  before  because  I  had  a  child  by  this  woman;  and 
I  was  now  irritated,  ashamed,  wounded  at  having  no 
more  of  her.  I  found  myself  free,  released  from  all 
responsibility,  from  all  anxiety,  and  yet  I  felt  myself 
raging  at  the  position  in  which  I  was  placed. 

"  Next  morning  my  brother  awaited  her  in  my  study. 
She  came  in  as  quickly  as  usual,  rushing  towards  him 
with  outstretched  arms,  but  when  she  saw  who  It  v/as 
she  at  once  drew  back. 

"  He  bowed,  and  excused  himself. 

"  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  maciame,  for  being  here  In- 
stead of  my  brother,  hut  he  has  authorized  me  to  ask 
you  for  some  explanations  which  he  would  find  it  pain- 
ful to  seek  from  you  himself.' 

"  Then,  fixing  on  her  face  a  searching  glance,  he 
said  abruptly : 

"  '  We  know  you  have  not  a  child  by  him.' 

"  After  the  first  moment  of  stupor,  she  regained 
her  composure,  took  a  seat,  and  gazed  with  a  smile  at 
this  man  wlio  was  sitting  In  judgment  on  her. 

"  She  answered  simply: 

'"No;  I  have  no  child.' 

"  '  W^e  know  also  that  you  have  never  been  in  Italy.' 

"  This  time  she  burst  out  laughing  in  earnest. 

"  '  No,  I  have  never  been  in  Italy.' 

"My  brother,   quite  stunned,  went  on: 

"  '  The  Comte  has  requested  me  to  give  you  this 
money,  and  tell  you  that  It  is  all  broken  off.' 


376  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

"  She  became  serious  again,  calmly  putting  the  money 
into  her  pocket,  and,  in  an  ingenuous  tone  asked : 

"  '  And  I  am  not,  then,  to  see  the  Comte  any  more?  ' 

"  '  No,  madame.' 

"  She  appeared  to  be  annoyed,  and  In  a  passionless 
voice  she  said : 

"  '  So  much  the  worse;  I  was  very  fond  of  him.' 

"  Seeing  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  on  the  sub- 
ject so  resolutely,  my  brother,  smiling  in  his  turn,  said 
to  her: 

"  '  Look  here,  now,  tell  me  why  you  Invented  all  this 
tricky  yarn,  complicating  It  by  bringing  in  the  sham 
journey  to  Italy  and  the  child?  ' 

She  gazed  at  my  brother  in  amazement,  as  if  he  had 
asked  her  a  stupid  question,  and  replied: 

"  '  I  say!  How  spiteful  you  are!  Do  you  believe 
a  poor  little  woman  of  the  people  such  as  I  am  —  noth- 
ing at  all  —  could  have  for  three  years  kept  on  my 
hands  the  Comte  de  L ,  Minister,  a  great  per- 
sonage, a  man  of  fashion,  wealthy  and  seductive,  if  she 
had  not  taken  a  little  trouble  about  it?  Now  it  is  all 
over.  So  much  the  worse.  It  couldn't  last  for  ever. 
None  the  less  I  succeeded  In  doing  it  for  three  years. 
You  will  say  many  things  to  him  on  my  behalf.' 

"  She  rose  up.  My  brother  continued  questioning 
her: 

"  '  But  —  the  child?     Y'ou  had  one  to  show  him?' 

"  '  Certainly  —  my  sister's  child.  She  lent  it  to  me. 
I'd  bet  it  was  she  gave  you  the  information.' 

"  '  Good!      And  all  those  letters  from  Italy?  ' 

"  She  sat  down  again  so  as  to  laugh  at  her  ease. 
Oh !    those    letters  —  well,    they    were    a  bit    of 


('  ( 


WOMAN'S  WILES  377 

poetry.  The  Comte  was  not  a  iSIinlster  of  Foreign 
Affairs  for  nothing.' 

"  '  But  —  another   thing?  ' 

"  Oh  I  the  other  thing  is  my  secret.  I  don't  want 
to   compromise    anyone.' 

"  And  bowing  to  him  with  a  rather  moclcing  smile, 
she  left  the  room  without  any  emotion,  an  actress  who 
had  played  her  part  to  the  end." 

And  the  Comte  de  L added  by  way  of  moral: 

"  So  take  care  about  putting  your  trust  in  that  sort  of 
turtle  dove!  " 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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law  1 1 1986 
H  JAN  17 1989 

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*?EC'D  LD-LIRL 

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NOV  0  6  199F 

Form  L9-Series  444 

n  ill 


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AA    000  441812    5 


